Monday, June 29, 2009

This Town VI

two beers later
the room feels dark,
the tree sways closer to the point
and when the sun finally sets
it gets cold.

the instances that lead
to this moment
recall themselves
in the struggle to forget fear,
but break down at the root
level and infect the tree.

later, when thought compels
a book to read itself,
it reads into itself
and walks the same road home.

the road doesn't change,
but alters itself in the slip
that leads into uncharted
combinations of the same word.

somewhere on the walk home
a drop of rain causes a flood
and the word disappears
amongst the puddles.

at home the buzz of lights
reiterate what happened
in the puddles
and the blue haze
drones long into the night.

Friday, June 26, 2009

This Town V

what's the mystery
in taking used tin

and stealing old bikes
in the middle of the night,

or when a shed burns down
and people flock to watch

the collapse of an
urban monument.

this town ought to be

if only
a way out,

but when an old man
takes death by the mouth

and inhales
to grab hold

of the last breath
and exhales

the memory of the
last goodbye kiss

something seems
almost forgotten.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

While I Wait For A Happy Poem

I'll wait for you in an
empty field

with a dandelion
in my hand,

pace with the wind
at my back

and talk with
the tall grass

while playing games
with the beetles
between my feet.

I know it's going
to be okay,

a little spider
told me so,

hummed it in my ear
before I fell asleep

next to a stone
where I dreamt

of you
in the green.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

This Town IV (A Simple Hello Will Not Do)

this town becomes a location,
a place to hibernate, a way
through to something else.
its identity manifests itself
in the bulbs of a dried flowers
that don't really belong here.

somewhere in the corner of yesterday
it cowers with tomorrow and hunkers
behind red trees and waits for the cover
of progress, but when moisture lifts,
the sky takes what it can and let's it all go.

of course it only takes a few drops
to know what falling is like,
but a change in climate
only occurs when watching TV.

and somewhere amongst the tall grass
that grows against the decayed buildings
waits the faded image of
a place that demands recognition.

Monday, June 15, 2009


one looks like a photographer,
only his eyes are too close to the action;
one looks like a councillor,
only I can't hear what she's saying;
another reminds me of my mother,
a little crazy, a little sad;
another has a mouth that falls away,
one looks into a cup of tea and reads
misery into the leaves; one holds a mop
and cleans like a lover, wiping up the pain;
one cooks food and prepares the conversation,
one sits alone with a pencil and pretends.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

This Town III

I don't k(no)w how long I can wait,
what if i/t (d)constructs i/t/self
and leaves me dismembered
in the outsourced mono/poly, but maybe
I could start by sewing bodies to/get/her
as I walk down 15th Ave
to(war)ds the dis(locate)d centre
where it's sup(pose)d to make sense.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

A Day In General Pain

Sunday. Warm, too warm. The blue sky reminds me of the last tear drop before the storm. Soon the sky will cloud over, send globs of white light running to the ground. I'll stand in the cool of labour and wait as time rains down, lost in the drag of boredom. It's slow, only a few customers mingle in; each looking for the same specific thing. And in the moments between customers my co-worker and I will share a cringe of disgust behind a fake expression, being sure the next customer won't see us. Outside people walk by in clouds of heat, bodies moist with perspiration. Some look okay, others don't. A slight breeze picks up and the leaves spin out of control in the corner beside the trees, taking us away into a vision reserved only for those who can see outside.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

This Town II

It becomes a foreign place, 
its distance, its movement,

the vacancy brought on
in familiar sights,

but to look back takes too long,
creates new meaning

in old introductions.
Some nights it takes

the the whole sky to feel

This Town


I came to this town on the back of my mothers breath
and the grunt of my fathers expectations,
the fear more opposite then expected
and soon discovered that there are strange apposing forces
at work.


In the still of night traffic patterns mock me,
their constant flow toward something I can't see,
a movement across the gap of integrity that seems to touch
some silent voice.


Pleasure fills this town and desire keeps it going.
It isn't as though the forests want their vengeance,
the trees don't care either way.
However, when the waters run down the side
of the mountains we hear their cries of clear cut loss
on the banks of the muddy waters.


I have been here 15 years now
and I don't know who's changed;
me or this town. Maybe I've grown
as the town has aged.
Some of the things I remember
are gone, others I simply forgot.


I don't much expect that it will make sense.
Maybe it's meant to be awkward,
a fidgeting that creates meaning
in the friction between fingers.


It's gets harder to stand in the crowd,
to watch the stream carry the dead fish away.
The night are long, but at lease they're quite.


Some call it the end, others wreckage.
It just happened, falls apart at the streams.