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



A man approaches me naked  to the waist   I do not

want to make his acquaintance  Another steamy day

in the Great White North  I blame this on the death of

Willie  The Wiarton groundhog who has seen his last shadow


My own shadow  though analyzed by one of the preeminent

Jungians of the late 20th century  remains in a state of gnarly

carnality   Often rude  filling my closets with numberless shoes

+ghosts pressing me for truths  Especially the ones I refuse to admit


Denial  my opiate of choice   The truth is not all it is cracked up to be

It has been known to cause ruptures   Arterial melodramas    Atonal

fibrillations   Rather be a mellow obfuscater  as my mirror cons me

O You are fair!  A real contendah!  A poetry giantess!


Back away from me slowly   Even my own mother has been known to say:

Your poems are spicy  full of swearing  I hope no one I know reads them

*Well so do I     It’s not the swearing per se   A well placed fuck can give a seismic

shock to the psychic Richter


And for an old crone  verging on witch   Altar stuffed with talismans  + one

small statue of Elvis   My Personal Dionysus  The words fill crevices otherwise

populated by tumbleweed  +creosote  Detritus of 6 decades   But getting oh so

close to being slipped the answer upon God’s tongue



*(definitely don’t show any of your friends this one!)




Fall Equinox  2017

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