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

when covidconvicts touch


yesterday i drove up  the dreaded bathurst st.  home of

my live mother  +my 31 yrs. dead   dad    a pilgrimage

grim+covid    blame the powers that be  for this bungled



orange don  who certainly has covid-toes  the thought

of which  in addition to his haircovered bits   is vomitous

then there is our own soft-talker  a salt+peppered vampire

rubbing his hands together   all snakeoil+slime


but i digress   this poem is about the fallout   the time is now

for otherwise healthy 90+ yr. olds  to find themselves wheelchair

bound  after being left in broomclosets in quebec


mother and i stood like convicts  touching the virus-sprackled

window at her rez   did u ever wonder why convicts touch their

hands to the glass?     u better sit down


an electrical current passes thru the membranes!  resulting in

instant imprinting   upon death those very DNA particles  lead

convicts  + the gassed   straight BACK to each other


my old mother cannot fathom why her formerly erudite neighbour

is slackjawed+demented this morning   why it’s the covid mummy


the what??   








Spring 2020  ..let us in..

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