Red is for the blood that has been shed
Because people had trouble accepting us for who we are
We were beaten and bruised and scarred by ignorant beings
Sometimes just scared people, and sometimes even ourselves
When we couldn’t turn anywhere else
We found an outlet for our feelings of self loathing and shame
We felt like we were to blame
Orange is for the fruit of our labour
We’ve worked hard for our rights and it has payed off
We may not be there yet hell not even close
But we’ve made it this far so who knows where we can go
Yellow is for the sun that shines bright
Lighting up our lives
When times get hard and the darkness consumes us
The light will lead the way
Green is for the plants that grow around us
Showing us that it is possible to bloom
From a bud to a beautiful flower
They give us hope during the hours where we need it most
Blue is for the oceans that run deep
The infinite pools of unknown territory
Reminding us that although some people think they have everything figured out
They really don’t
Violet is for the flowers that bloom in even the darkest of places
Reminding us that no matter how terrible circumstances are
You can still bloom into a beautiful human being
And that we are not measured by our scars

if grass were blue
and sky was green
in the oceans open field
i'd float in dreams
to the outer banks
of in between
under a chartreuse sun
in waves of tangerine

as pink dolphins
come together as one
and sing out loud
to the purple sirens song
near the jagged rock
where the sailors warn
of the changing colors
of the coming storm

i'd still think of you
as if grass were blue
on the changing tide
of the oceans hue
as i live by
what i thought i knew
with sky's of green
and grass of blue

i want to sit on my own in an old diner booth and pretend that
the lady who serves me is the love of my life

i want to tangle my limbs with daisy chains and become the
perfect idea for a beautiful poem

i want to be your last resort
your only option, your turning point

i want to swallow rose petals and grow into something
so much more beautiful

i want to bury myself under piles and piles of your letters
and pretend that i don't exist anymore

i want to taste the salty oceans on your skin

i want to go cover myself in books of poetry
in some pathetic attempt to take control of my life

Year of the snake. This is the year of further transcendence. An isolated spectacle hanging in the daybreak fog, meeting earth to the clouds and the middle of grey-beam aqua-pasture is where I store myself. The very sad man dreamt again of the very happy woman whom he would never see and never hold again. It was undeniable they arrived together in another time. It was undeniable she was the most disgusting and beautiful sprite of his musing. They devolved instantaneously into the tragic manifesto. And why not? Why not squeeze the great oceans between their chests in an amassing wave of some armada of lowly downed prisms. Playing colors off the wall or the slummed vacated room. Slipping off into my eyes.

Suspended at the beginning of the end. At the end of the beginnning.
Neither rising nor falling.the wolf trots across twinkling white powder.
Frosty breath like a steam driven piston. She is neither hungry nor on patrol.

In her element. Little Red beware.

A calm.before the storm..listen to the blood swish in your veins.
Bass drum pounding behind your ears.
Systole/dyastole.
Tic/Toc

A sigh of relief the dipstick was.negative
Tic/toc
Slack tide.

Anticpation & dissipation
Slack tide

The moon pulls and releases. Clutch moment the oceans
Fall and rise. In the mean time. The between time.
We live in slack tide.

Gertrude, Stradbrook, River and Roslyn,
off of McMillan, my thoughts froze on Osborne
A drive through the Village on slippery streets
Bought records, drained pints
                        swallowed down summer nights
Back home in Wyoming--think I'll be fine
                         'til some night, filled to gills
                          trip through streets with a stranger
                          and sing "One Great City"
                          through swollen closed throat

And I remember...

Confusion Corner, commuting through cold streets
Watched you drive as the daylight died
I narrow my Focus,
                                     you eased into traffic
The Assiniboine ran and was watched by Riel

January.
Johnson's Terminal.
London Fogs.
Took Yellow Dogs for long walks
and Exchanged now for then. Snapped pictures, again and again.

Snow up to my hips
Spent a night at St. Boniface
We cased a cathedral, your friends seemed to like me.

Lines ran from reserves, over oceans and borders.
Your hair ran down shoulders, brown waves for a blanket.

Winterpeg, Manitscoldout
Portage & Main
Shivering, smiling
at a Tavern Uniting with friends,
'til we took the King's Head...
We took the King's Head.
Long live the king.

January.
Magic Thailand.
Curry soup, curried thoughts thawing,
melting, falling from pickled brains,
                      through lips chapping

Form a Perimeter
Frame a city
Bullseye, center, a Gold gilded Boy
he leans into sky, as they sing, as I hear.
The road North Ended--November, it was.
I think, one year prior, in Robin's Donuts
on hinges that sighed metallic,
I caught your eyes--organic, unplanned--
               through fog frosting lenses
Caught them, held on
               Held your deep brown
               In my gunmetal blue

Seasons will chase--haste to follow more seasons
White streaks to green
and the Red River runs.
When they score at the ballpark,
"Go Goldeyes!" the cheer sounds
Cheer. Cheer!
The Guess Who still suck,
but the Jets completed their round trip
"Go, Jets, go!" so the cheer goes.
"Cheers!" Cheers like bells.
             Bells
           Pealing
Peeling like your sunburnt back
            Bells
          Ringing
           Striking
Bells singing long
Bells sounding loudly from Grace Bible Church
  baptizing Baltimore as it kisses Osborne

Bells ringing. Round sounds.
Round rings for fingertips touching
Bells
Round sounds that hang on my neck
and sing me to sleep every night--
remind me how badly you wanted those bells
                I denied you.

They sing "Left and Leaving"
             and show me old scars
          they ring and peal and strike
                         and sing
                         unending.

I remember April of 2008
Dropping my toque in the mud-and-slush street
            We took Pembina Highway
              Ate Vietnamese.

I remember...

Confusion Corner,
Commuting through cold streets,
Watching you drive as the daylight died
In your blue '02 Focus
Ease us back into traffic,
The Assiniboine River.
And Louis Riel.

So tell me...

Comment-allez vous, ce soir?
Je ne suis pas comme ci, comme ça.

There's no rest for the wicked. The plot thickens. The blood thins, then bleeds out onto the thorny thickets biting at bare shins, which sickens you to death times ten. Now you're feeling like a tiger in human skin. You begin setting off on the prowl for substance and the meaning of your life akin to the World's splendor. It's sustenance revealed to your awoken third eye of insight. The mind's eye of you and me, sees bountiful trees breathing and leaning towards your sweeping winds of change. Swaying towards every gaze, starstruck and amazed, chasing the dreams of completing this crazy maze of madness. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears that lubricate the gears that moves giant machines for years to come. May they be for peace, safety, and fun. Genes of the spirals behind our tattered, denim jeans holds molecular machines within us. Tiny gears set into motion, creating particular love potions, pouring out into vast oceans of debris floating in currents aligned. Strive for hopes and meanings sublime. Finely layered lines of poetry shine out from the beating hearts of timely martyrs chiming, rhyming, and climbing up the never-ending step ladder of the divinely. Ascension from the tension of the rotting vine of hatred, did I mention the sign of sacred love, which swoops down from above? The dove from it's perch of light, stares directly into your sight. Bright, dazzling displays amaze you more by the day.
Chasing and facing the challenges of anxiety, stress, and worry, obstructions of a 10 story building crumbling down all around you. Dust-bellowing clouds to choke and blindly block your steps around the destruction. Using torn limbs as bloody crutches, stumbling amongst dozens of slain wretches. Bets are placed for survival of the quickest and fittest. The wittiest guy you know is fastidious as the insidious destroyers of tomorrow.
This poem I borrowed from my soul and mind. The lines have spilled out onto shining paper reflecting the light from the mind's eye. All these meaningless rhymes will move tides that waves to you goodbye.

i wish these oceans of blankets
could be replaced by you.
instead of tracing flowers,
i would connect your "sun-kisses,"
as my mum would say,
and lead them up to your heart,
then your lips,
lingering as you inhale my love,
burrowing deep inside your lungs.

maybe if you were there
to replace those drowned blankets,
maybe
maybe your shattered chest
would still rise and
fall
to the cadence
of my bruised lungs.

i find myself exhausted
by pushing forth and back emotions
like tides pulling oceans
i am drowning in the notion
that you can deny the divide
paralyzing you and I
brush it behind the door
as we brush past each other nevermore
memories of spring
while gazing on falling leaves
cracking crumbling beneath the feet
that walked so effortless over me
who i then tripped
and you fell to the bended knee
of a mellow heartless fellow
who in fact divided seas.