"It's about words, and words are all I have…"

Archive for the month “February, 2017”



All of Toronto scowling today  as usual   Though the ice

is melting  +sun at its most beautiful  hanging over

Trinity Bellwoods   Tributaries run hip purebred yellow

As Gucci clad West Queen Westers smoke skunky pot

Cannabinoids don’t make a dent in penchant for snarl


Is there no one in the park today  newly cancer free?

No one giddy with freshreprieve?   Trees are waiting to

sprout leaves  +birds gathering to shit on these  moribund

hipsters  come Spring!




Rising Up For Spring





Winter 2017   for a hero: Kelly Bourne Atkins
















If love is the glue binding our tribe  disinterest is

the solvent   Not hate which is equally binding   It is

much more difficult to grieve someone who: lied

demeaned +loathed you   Trust me I know   Years ago

such a relation died via suicide


Research points to the release of neuro-chemicals  in fresh

intimacies  that act as anti-depressants   The opposite is true of

troubled associations   Here  bile  stomach acid  +cortisol  the rule

A festering anti-limerence may even cause disease   A feeding upon

oneself  as Roger Chillingworth fed upon Arthur Dimmesdale   The 

unpardonable sin  in Hawthorne’s Scarlett Letter


But it was Emily D.  the only female Transcendentalist  who knew that

love commingles heaven+hell    While ardourless science stomps all over

love as fate   It’s really about simple proximity   Location location  location

My 3rd husband waxes romantic  yet I moved onto his street   +had a

washer and dryer in the basement!


Might something more complex have been afoot?   It is true too  that when I

am caught in the most venomous of tempests  he generally shows up unexpectedly

One frozen winter’s eve some years ago  as I crested a snowbank  filled with evil

intention  +bile   a hand gallantly appeared   I felt his familiar gaze  +glared into

that Viking face     Clearly for me  there is no escape


If you can’t take it, get out.  I can’t take it so I lie on a hotel bedissolving

into chemicals.    (By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept  

Elizabeth Smart  1945)



Winter 2017   Valentines Day  for ASC  year 29..




My mother is one  +at soon to be 93  she wears her

feminism like a beatified Saint Joan   She alone taught

me the girlropes   She was always way ahead of her time


Be smart

Go to school   +keep going    +going

Be brave+bold  in ways you couldn’t be in 1940

Respect your body

Hold your head high

For chrissakes learn how to use a computer!

(she began 10 yrs. before me..)

Joie de vivre is real beauty

It’s ok to be pretty  fashionable  smart  +tough as nails

It’s ok to leave relationships that don’t work  make you hurt

or demean you

You’re nobodies slave


When I told her that there was a time in history when God

was a Woman  her response was righteous indignation  When

was that?  she spat   It was before our time  but you’ve kept

Her spirit alive against all odds   +She roams free in all of

your girl progeny


Valentines Day 2017    for Frances  Rock On Queen Bee!



At 3:42 this morning a friend wrote me: your site sucks

Now a driving snow falls around me  clinging to merlot hair

Turning it into the silver fox  it wants to be   Was it a lack of

civility  or just ballsy honesty?


In the dumbeddowndonald world it’s hard to tell   Yesterday

I heard Conrad Black say: Trump was charming  Funny   A great  

guy!  But who’s going to believe Unlord Connie?   Later I saw

Lenny Bruce on: The History of Comedy  which wasn’t that funny


Lenny was lying on the bathroom floor  naked   Dying from FBI

harassment  +bad drugs   He took on the Catholic church  at a time

when molestation by priests was still deep in the closets of every

diocese on Earth


I guess I don’t so much mind the friend’s honesty  though it stings

But you gotta know the his life would suck balls without me   Thank

you Lenny  for paving the way   for my salty poetry    RIP





Winter  2017




Sitting in a cool cafe  I have the urge to strip +Go Go dance in the

bay window  It couldn’t be as bad as Ga Ga’s gagworthy uncall  to

revolution  at the 51st Super Bowl last night   With all the pussy

shaking  no doubt the Donald  will make a bee line for her underpants

This morning my 93 yr. old mum tweeted: I wouldn’t give five cents to

see Ga Ga!   Me either   In fact my concert going days may be over


At the Drive By Trucker’s show on Saturday  I went out cold   Heat

prostration   +hard hip bods  profusely pressing against me   Ditto at

Trombone Shorty   Jazzfest T.O.  2013    200 degrees under that fucking

tin tent someone brilliant invented   Airless  soulless  hellhole  where groove

starved Canadians huddle each Summer


Had my 1st porta-potty experience there  Mrs. Phyllis Schneider accompanied

me to pee  +sold tickets to the lined up crowd  10 deep    She’s never been in a 

porta-potty!  she screamed    A rancid smell hit me like a ton of bricks  + I was

knocked to the floor  when someone eagerly bounced onto the commode next



As I emerged green behind the gills  the crowd lifted me onto their shoulders

Jazzfest prima donna  Comrags dress  sticky-sweet   After the show I headed

for Shorty  who I know from a Treme bar   Troy is shy  with lush t. bone lips

To see him reef is to enter an altered state  imagining all the possibilities


Today as we commiserated about concert blackouts  +toileting experiences therein

a wise friend said to me:  Freedom may be an illusion  which I am loathe to believe

though the certainty is slowly dawning on me   Now I am dancing buck (!)   in the

window at the Cygnet Cafe   +small Portuguese people are gathering   as the priest

from St. Helena’s across the street has entered with unctions  + a Chicago 58 salami


(You’re all alone and filled with fear, and the billionaire says

what you need to hear. He’s never worked a day in his life,

but he’s on your side.   Moby  2016)


Winter  2017     for Spooner

never stop going to concerts  

+never lose your sense of humour..



I have a friend who quoted Woody Allen

one day 25 yrs. ago   He said:  80%

of life is just: showing up


I answer now

And the remaining

20% involves:


kicking & screaming 

watching & waiting

lusting & alighting


&  goodbyes



Winter 2017    *written as Malcolm X  Fall 2012



Mary died today  Tyler Moore   Remember her

throwing her pink hat into the air?  Did she turn

the world on with her smile?   Far too wholesome

+toothsome  even for then   You wanted to see her

a little messed up  neat skirt askew  after a few  too many


It was 1977  but felt more Laura Petrie repressed  than the

vanguard of Women’s Lib.   She seemed virginal in those

Audrey-esque suits  with small pointy breasts   Perhaps even

an Electra complex simmering underneath  for Ed    Gruff

father figure  sleeves rolled up   Perhaps even a seduction on

his desk?


Mary’s own father died of cancer in 92  after an unsuccessful

suicide attempt assisted by Mary   Her only child Richard died

when a gun went off in his hands  at 24   There were stints too at

the Betty Ford   Real life savaged the ingenue   Dark eyed + lush

lipped   Demons flattened themselves against lithe frame   Ed now

plays a psychoanalyst on TV    Doesn’t look like Ed  anymore


When our TV stars start dying  we lose the demi-gods whose

visitations in our living rooms  where our parents rested middle

aged bodies  were the glory days    When we really had it made –


Your choice   you can cling to your past  or to your future



*(creepy orange DJT  signed an executive order to have Mary

buried in the White House rose garden) 





Winter  2017    RIP Mary Tyler Moore  1936-2017

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