so ends its many-fingered chord
ever-counting its audience
perplexed
leave via riot
7th 11th 13th
no no none of these
aftermath
we swindle down corner thugs
yes the usual please
just the usual
whose composer tried
oh how
as ever
tried
sweet yorewist
sweet yorewist
pinksome fog outspread behind me
wander unreflecting into its
dense mandelmurk
each shrouded menhir speaks
in furrowed tales
the stone of which
is the greater dreamlore
what bendsome hereafter comes
may happen nonetheless
i stumble backwards
unsighted into it
Story
I confess nothing because
I need to confess nothing
Whatever it is it is
Written indelibly on my slackness
You can see it woven beneath
All-too-thin skin
This is why you
Don’t make eye contact
If you did you might
See a different story
keep your hands off my babylon
she guzzles prayers
lips blood-of-saint limned
mother of beasts who
yap: keep your hands off my babylon
she eats scriptures
ink dimpled chin
mother of apex peckers who
cry: take good care of my babylon
she dissolves seltzer-slow
wormwood-bitter
into the reservoirs
into the aqueducts
advent
alas whose body
at toe is ochre & gold &
crisp wrapping paper
again
you could not last the year
i will lie down amidst you
watch the sky
an expectation
jesus christ
holy comet of fire most bright
the participle of man’s desiring
arrives to hydrate
regardless
we have never met
we have never stopped meeting
so i wait in your bones
till even these coals become dust
& some grey janitor
turns us into cloud
america
who are you
america
revolution pinned to your
lapel like a continuous explosion
america
you in the mirror
i do not recognize you
america
the brightest the bravest
the once
america
Mississauga VI
Part Of A Series Of Poems About Mississauga
o mississauga
i remember her vocabulary
her cadence & inflection
thick with traffic
running nowhere
o mississauga
does this departure gladden
are her streets tinted gold
is the house i built filled
with gratitude & laughter
o mississauga
just down the highway
i thought once perhaps you could
be calmed be settled be okay
(you could not)
o mississauga
another follows in my wake
a fraud a fake a not-quite
but he pays his taxes & mows his lawn &
that’s good enough
The Beach
She lies
on the beach
She lies
on the beach
on a towel the
colour of sand
She lies
on the beach
on a towel
made of sand
becoming the
colour of sand
She lies
on the beach
she is made
of sand
water takes
her bit by bit
She is
the beach
water takes
and gives back
She is
the beach
Of The Margins
who is splashed green growing
between sidewalk & street
who makes soil so
even concrete blooms
who knows your breath
its percentage
who is not much
is everything
who is before & is after &
will grow here & where
who sees but doesn’t
least expects
Dream’s Dream
In the dream your room is full of flame and
I leave my fingerprints on the knob and
I leave my footprints on the hardwood and
I look and look and I cannot find you and
I ask myself if I need to leave you and
I ask myself if I should go with you
In the dream’s dream
You are standing on the front lawn and
Your lungs fill up with clean air and
Your skin uncindered smells of detergent and
Your bones hidden and flesh-clothed and
You don’t slip through my fingers