songanddancegirl

depersonalization nation

aka  headfuck  which was the verbal tic of

a boy we knew  after too much frogblotter

for this poet  that cute speckled frog  psychedelisized

those strange young breasts on the blind faith album

this almost led to schizoid splitting  at 12  those breasts

already trip inducing  blueveiny  with translucent points

now fast forward to trips taken  non lysergic induced  some

53 yrs later   during the great pestilence

yesterday while driving on longtrod streets (this after narrowly

missing a shooting in hipster park from hell) i looked up at the

ugly cake shops  +restos serving 20 buck cocktails to cockswains

and i was  unmoored

moments of  where am i   were long +offput   depersonalization

blooming  that dreaded twin of covidfog  a milder form of brainfuck

unless u are 90  +delirium sets in   your mind never to be heard

from  again

adrift  is the new normal  bouts of vertigo  crying in local metro

+facing the hard cold fact of a heartless corona  one that lodges

in the braindrain

i now know how i would handle war  clawing my way over bodies

selling my soul+body  and giving up names   it seems the survival

instinct  is  the killer instinct in sheepsclothes  i would do anything

to get out alive   not to mention what i’d do to save my mother

u too exalted?  too moral?  how about when the alternative is: to be

placed on a stage +forced to have sex with ones father?  a regular

Nazi pastime    (yes)

OK  now how about u?   u ready to climb over the semi-dead too?

__

Summer 2022  ..this is an unmoored poem..

the hag of cronesville + other stories

is aging the new death? can u all just give us

a few years to shrivel fer chrissakes?  so the box

is not filled with celebrityskin  all pink puff +hopeful

have u ever seen 100 yr old skin?  thin-skinned doesn’t

begin to cover it   sheer  veering off of bonesbrittle  creases

hiding small dogs  +mouldering sins

soon to merge with the  BIG HOLY SHIT  as in: almost

ghosted by God  every 10 yrs a stranger has the reigns

burns down the mission  u hardscrabbled to build

the million watt RED hair (u took a 2nd mortgage for) while

half listening to hair zombies  +a stylist who in dead monotone

says: so what u doing with the rest of your life  day?

u forcefeed her quips  half truths  u give her the best 30 yrs

of your life  now shorn  +pallid grey  u have nothing to say

your kingdom’s up for sale    again

this time filled with:  shapewear  too tight to eat  breathe + die in

plus a few leather jackets from your days impersonating anti-heroes

now antichrist +crepey  your 70’s loom  like a blowtorch

__

Summer 2022  ..anarchy poseurs unite..

what i did on my summer vacation

10 days in a covidbunker  with my 98 yr old mother

me: delirium tremens  weary  skin lifeless  +blob

she fared much worse

elan +chignon  gone   near hundred year old skin

clinging  chains clanging  the nasty cocktail of pills

keeping her unalive   growing

doctor’s vampire incisors glint   mrs. death cracks a

knowing smile  u humans are the dumbest bastards

god ever created 

verbatim my long dead father’s sentiment re: an uncut

pizza in the laurentians  we tore it to shreds with our

younghands  whilst father threw beers at passersby

__

Summer of Corona👑  ..we are family..🦇🦇🦇

valhalla+schmaltz

did u know there are 5 loon calls?  one is cackle

+looneybin   perhaps where this non PC moniker

of madness  was born

i heard it once in the woods at 4 am

with my husband of 3 yrs.  a real woodsy piece of work

even more so now  a hairsbreadth from 70  says things like:

sorry if u see it that way  á la Julie Payette  the fired Gov Gen

(both Gestalt therapy savants ie., deny deny deny!)

i read somewhere that the combo of Viking+Jew  is the most

fiery of all unions  how true  my kishkas are BBQ’d  + on chilly

nights  under moonsblue   i cackle like a loonfool

our final act may involve murder  or renewed vows!  ’cause once

you’ve had Viking  you are broken+brunhilda   able to eat rawbison

with yer bare hands   yet forever transformed  🐃 🐃

__

Mighty Thor  circa 1974

Summer 2022   ..hey Thor ..don’t lose yer sense of humour..

rumour has it

some rumours i have heard:

nails+hair continue to grow  in the grave

i know u are rolling your eyes  thinking  old poet

go on a fucking holiday!

maybe too late for that  2.5 yrs into the pestilence

i spent my 1st evening  with more than 3 people

there were 10

though i walked like a human  +talked like a human

i was zombified   trying to recall how to socialize  which

i never truly mastered  pre these covidtimes

i could tell my interlocutor wanted to escape  my wordswamp

words  stuck+defeated  croaked out   my train of thought

dead on the tracks

head-on collision  with emptiness  the font went dry  my left

eyesore  spied my loved one  escaping   all 10 party-people

were close family members

this one left me  mid-sentence  never to be heard from  again

rumour has it   he is now a porn star  in Berlin   fuck him

there was this terrible weighed down feeling   in my chest

mantle of mourning  for former life  rife with  concerts  libraries

+the temple of Gehry  making out with strangers in cafes

much sashay

old age is not an obscure rumour

except for in the

first two thirds of life

when it’s a cry for help

__

Summer 2022  ..okay okay..don’t get all depressed..

birdwoman of west queen west

it took weeks to get used to   birdsong

dawnchirpings  screech  howls  bit of baying

hounds the new de riguer dog  of creeping  hipsters

of which my hood is full           too

now the fucked cacophony melds with that of life

a cacoph so base  it inspires little  but as the sailors

like to say:  the darkest hour’s  just before dawn  eh

__

Summer 2022  ..don’t touch deadbirds..or shamey..

i’d rather be a hammer than norman

a giant hawk cruised me at the cemetery  as i

visited my father Lee  i left him a snake + a few

pigs    griefstrick  + holeyhearted

his bone-mulch rests in holy-ground

my BIG BRO  was shovelled under a tree  he wasn’t

fond of consecrated land  ie., sold many a swamp in

Florida   + worried about being  urinated on

hawks are death-harbingers

for whom does the bell toll?  my 98 yr. old mother?

so ready to travel  or  me?  i who am moving toward

this concept

this death-thing

clinging to pleasure  cool mornings  +kishka la toni

(from my favourite deli)   woe is me  this as my mother’s

new caregiver  pines for her former patient

so recently deceased

when mother goes missing   Mercy’s voice  pitiful  +

gutwrench  shouts  Norman  Norman  Norman!   to

which my mother   rarely answers

__

Summer 2022  ..el covid pasa..🦇

don’t know what u got til it’s gone

losing a sibling  an amputation

losing a parent  a natural disaster

losing yourself  a slow trickle  then tidal

at 45  a man gave me a gun

shoot yourself

or i shoot u

no way out  work mortgage the odd opera

treadmill  vaginawasteland  +phoenixenvy

at 65  a tent proffered  by lone lumberjack

ie., grizzlypegger  husband # 3  teaching me

survival skills  which i sorely need

these days of scorched covid earth  +mother’s

death watch   but is she really dying   or just

living the dream?   row   row   fucking  row

__

Summer of …inferno…putrifactio…+ascension?

mystic/shmystic

we looked at each other  mother+daughter

in a  wtf  kind of way  ie., wtf are we doing here?

HERE  in a refurbished retirement home   up

bathurst street’s  ass

to be frank

we  2 former beauty queens   now silverhaired

mystic  +desiccate   98+65    all dappled skin

appaloosa   +superpositive!

__

Summer of Coming To Grips  ..soon stardust..💥💥

the rising

his mother died in a river  his father in a

burning bed  he was Cree  8 yrs old   and

my client

as we discussed Kurt Cobain’s suicide  head

blown off  at 27   he said:  therapist  we can’t

know that 

at some point i stopped trying to convince him

+let the wisdom of his words land   this as the

wonderwoman doll he played with   EXPLODED!

legs fell off  arms went flying  play therapy

bomb-revelation  a life without revelation is

a life  not worth living

his  we can’t know this  revelation  was perfect   +gnome

as my mentor Sharansky said: most suicides are

in reality  attempts   gone wrong

take Anna Karenina’s death  the train she lays

in wait for  is upon her  as she tries to stand up

but it’s too late   the train has it’s way with her

the bullet  with Kurt Cobain  we can never know

who will rise up in those long last moments   my

suicide-rescue  seemed to

though did she really?  or is this woman a ghostly

doppelganger   masquerading as the one  who

desperate +bug-eyed   swallowed    +swallowed

+swallowed

__

…at the same moment she was horrified at what she was doing..

what am i doing? why? ..she wanted to rise.. but something huge

and implacable pushed at her head and dragged over her…forgive

me for everything!    (Anna Karenina  Leo Tolstoy  1878)

Summer of BA.5