songanddancegirl

these ants are nihilists donny

our ants are in remission  each Spring we are lulled into

complacency  as husband #3 drops food liberally  banana

detritus  peanut gallery  coffee grinds from hell

countertop mayhem  ants plotting their comeback tour

soon in our bed  encouraging  swatting  slapping  among

other acts  of tainted love  +S/M debauchery

red trails into darkmoist pubes  (do old people have pubes?)

they hover  listen intently to human misery  the odd bit of

elation   smearing sheets with sacred substances

they are red  with beady bedroom eyes  à la Antman Edwards  but

not as cute   laying embryos in ears   +inner thighs   soon our tall

yellowhouse  will be crawling with resurrection + fragrant anty-feces

Welcome to Spring in Canada  eh! 🐜🐜🐜

__

Spring 2025

leitmotif blues

this is so hard  harder than leaving childhood  epiphanic  but

life ahead from here  backside of the mountain  to where?  25yrs

in the tall yellowhouse  mouldering   35  in smouldering marriage

today many handymen ransack +amok  trying to match paint and

patch scars  one pipes in  just hide the cracks  bringing to mind the

Japanese art of  Kintsugi

the beautiful breaks  humpty-gold in the cracks  dumpster at the ready

for my treasures +me   but  HARK!  the faint leitmotif breaks on thru

i’ve heard it before

my soundtrack

my argument

my question

my fate

if one more faux stoic says: amor fati   i will shiv em   your fate is not a

burden if you embrace where you came from  despise your origin story  you

rot  my old mother did (not rot) often saying: we were poor but always had food

she said that to all the fancyladies at the rez   they who pranced in their diamonds

+deshabille  shouting  WE LIVED IN WESTMOUNT!   well you ain’t living in

Westmount anymore       bitches

why can you never step into the same river twice grasshopper?  by the end you

cannot find the same river  or any river   your leitmotif   your thesis  is now your

final breath  when for the first+last time  you truly live in the fucking moment

+ btw  fuck Ram Dass

__

..we do not rush toward death  we flee the catastrophe of birth  

survivors struggling to forget it  fear of death is merely the projection

into the future of a fear which dates back to our first moment of life..

(Emil Cioran  1911-1995)

Spring 2025     let my people go Dathan!

apes of wrath

it’s a place where everyone says  i hope you never return

i hope you never see me again    instead of namaste

there is no peace  in these rooms

i heard screams+crying in the night  a demented childwoman

shuffled  in terrycloth robes  ratty  fragrant with fecal  we heard

her cry again  when we visited the replacement surgeon

ours having fled to Greece  where the bones of Seneca  moulder

You will not die because you are sick   but because you are alive

i lost my thrill in those rooms  dating back to 17

at mother’s vivisection  byebye joie de vivre  did i ever have a shred?

hmmmm  brief moments in Cali  when i still believed in the BIG SUR

of  Miller Kerouac Liz Smart    by Nepenthe i sat down and wept

..she was like a beautiful dinner left out overnight..she was sumptuous

but the guests were gone..    James Salter  Light Years   1975

fools live their lives backwards  and of a Sunday morning  google

an old whore  who bilked your dazzling father  who raged like a bull

of his youth   +his last semblance of saintly

___

Winter 2025  ..why u so smart Seneca the Younger?…🏛🏛