i select for you
a grotesquerie
obscenely splayed
as always you’ve brought your
own from home
rank surmounting
Hamilton
On the shores of Lake Ontario we built hell
And a skyway to see it from
There is no night here nor is there day
But a braided arm of coke fire reaching up, up
To shake down cancer from the clouds
A fine, particulate way to go
Breathe deeply, your unconscious participation
You must die so that others may live
60 storeys up and 60 kilometers away
Where snow remains white
Where a sightless horde
Of engineers and accountants
Shovel you unmarked
Into the blast
what must
he speaks brawn into it
why not me
already knows but anyways says
why not me
never been disappointed while expecting injustice
why not me
balled fist leaks red scent
why not me
whispers whirl into wind again & again
why not me
again already knows what must
why me
perhaps sings
today is prosaic
a chorus of flat words trudges
towards the horizon
we have forgotten how to speak
& more to read
the age suffocates the urge
whose palette is technocolour
all greys
we are labour we are grown
we are approaching it
except all at once a bit flips
& we see these marvelous
objects are more
song we sing
or perhaps sings
the fist of my gut
somewhere
in the fist of the earth
enstrata, folded warmly
is that person who
spoke into clenched ears
acted against deserted rows
their legacy may be grasped
a scrap of fabric hooked
and torn away
a few shorn word, no longer
contexted, slipping under:
sublime
I open my mouth, felsic,
fecund with their antiquations,
belly-deep, spewn
somewhere
in the fist of my gut
is the was
season’s
this season is full of nothing
& nothing is as heavy
torrents obscure white dashes
wilderness bisected so
we could connect to we
on either side new species
brook along babeling
canticle nothing
chorale nothing
anthem nothing
Father Christmas bursts through cokeflame
singed & sooted to deliver his verdicts
incandescent yet another year
we beg: coal, coal
yesterday’s forest afire
breath it in breath it out
smoglike greyness
letter nothing
phoneme nothing
pronoun nothing
tw/ice
two roads diverged &c.
so I took them both
long story short
now-me is wise
and she says
at least I took the right road
can’t say I disagree though
I do and I don’t
to choose to freeze is
to choose to burn
one way
and the other
feels like home
don’t remember much now
says the rocking chair with his
wrinkles down to here
covered in a blanket
riddled with holes
except
The fabric!
The static!
The electricity!
The spark in a dark room!
The viscous loom shuttling!
The sputtering note of petroleum!
burned but survived
preaches the bedpan hollow
out into the halls hallow
no-one listens without anguish
so no-one listens
Heartbeats
Inside you the slow-breathing coal accelerates.
It’s fierce now. You expand like an old star.
I write down what I can.
Inkstained snow falls and lies piled around my chair.
I bargain. I accept nothing.
I say, Perhaps instead you can take…
So tomorrow I will lead you into the chamber
and feel your heartbeats flow between my fingers.
I cannot keep them.
I cannot be rid of them.
one of eleven
Write eleven; choose one.
To find that one the eleven must be written.
There’s no way around it.
You’ll find it in revision.
Five might seem like enough, but no.
Or ten? but again, no.
Eleven is the magic number.
Eleven is when something pops.
Still, treasure the first draft.
It’s not right, but still you love it.
It’s not quite, but it’s got that magic.