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

Archive for the month “February, 2023”

shiny happy poem

he said:  hey  you can choose sunshine+daffodils  sunshine!





the Stones say:  u can’t always get what u want

and often  what u get  is not  what u want  so is

Mick saying:  choice is overrated ?  my dentist’s

secretary  Barbra  recently said  death is overrated

who is right?     both are


many among us would choose death  if it did not

involve dying?   sweetoblivion   no more trying

your thoughts  make your life  they  are  your life

so can scripts be rewritten?   as i suffer +shiva


the woke generation’s perseveration on the word

manifest:  aka  i can pull the life of my dreams out

of my ass  in a heartbeat   while we   the unwoke



today i wear the sad wooldress  i wore to my mother’s

funeral  13 wks ago  her script at 98 yrs old:  i am sickly

afraid   +hate being alone  though in excellent health

much of her life    cigs    no vegetables   no exercise


alone for 33 yrs

+she handled a

bought of cancer

with savoir-faire


my manifesto:



..which is harder: to be executed, or to suffer the

prolonged agony which consists of being trampled

to death  by geese?..(Søren Kierkegaard)  much loved

by the woke..


Winter 2023 brave..

who who who

a great raptor of the night  visited me  recently

these large birds of prey are rarely seen  in the

day   i saw one once  waybackwhen  on a stump

at a fork in the road  (ask not for whom the bell tolls)


30 yrs ago  when joints supple  +tinkerbell  now rigor

+cronish  could be worse   (ya right)  the great owl is

not to be confused   with hawk mythos   the hawk  a

pure  deathbird


2 took a brother  +several cackling bombdivers  scooped

our mother  they squawked + cawed in evil gaiety  as she

lay  covidbidden   mother+i sat  on opposite sides  of a

screen door    waving whenever she woke


little did i know   the hawks were inches   from snatching

her away   in 82 days   at sunrise   while owls can be harbingers

of imminent death   they are mostly all about  transformation  +

magic  long the compañeros  of witches+urbanjewishshamans


one generation

slips away  (leaving behind boxes of photo albums +such)

one generation

makes its

steep climb


death the soil  of life


up at the cemetery  our ancestors stir  the hawk circles  the owl

sits  on the yet uncarved stone  as motherfatherbrother  exchange

pleasantries    resist fate!    light out for new territories    learn to

dig   the mystery! 



Winter 2023  ..amor fati..and move on fer chrissakes..!



ain’t no sunshine

on paper  she looked like she was afraid of

her own shadow*  especially that  ie., (split off

parts of oneself  reaching back to the realm

of our animal ancestors..C.G. Jung)


taught to worship mammon (who wasn’t?)  +the

power of men   when i told her in another time  man

worshipped woman  (google it)  breasts thighs butts

yes  google that too    she became indignant

she simply didn’t believe it !  ditto when i told her

there were zillions of stars in the sky  well i never

see them  urbanpoor  removed from school at 12

though spelling bee winner + published poet at 8

(Montreal Gazette circa 1932)


Mother saw her first sunrise  at 93  in the same

room in which she died   ape i saw a giant orange

ball in the sky  i thought it was a spaceship!


5 yrs later the same mothership  came to take her

she lay fearless for 15 hrs  as lifeforce ebbed  she

who had given birth to multitudes  what is this  am

i going to meet my maker?   (what nerve!)


the orange ship landed on the balcony  her maker

a Clarke Gable doppelgänger  or was it Roger Mudd?

lifted her  ever so gently  a lithebody now  slender of

limb  like Vivien


he lit her cigarette  she dragged deeply  frankly Clarke

those little shits i raised took all my vices away   now

pour me a stiff Courvoisier!


*(mother’s Courvoisier bill the 8th wonder of the world)


Winter 2023 can’t give her one more day??..🥃l’chiam..





wait up

wish i had a zipper  from third eye to my toe

much like the scar on my father’s body  sternum

to ankle   (..they cut me from stem to stern..)


mother+brother’s scars  more of the psyche

though  chest  bladder  +around backs  too

stitched +sewn  into fabric of souls


with this zipper (also a feature of couture dresses

+bodybags)   i would unzip myself from this mortalcoil

+make a beeline for New Mexico (bucket list rodeodream)


in addition to buicksized scorpions 🦂  i fully expect to find

my dead peops   motherfatherbrother   tumbleweed +free

free-er than i will ever be


until i take my place beside them

when daddy holds out his hand

and lifts me to my steed 🦄




Winter 2023  ..until we meet again..

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