i don't hear the whispers anymore
neither do I see the flashing lights.
my bed has become a graveyard,
where my blood is a fountain
and my chest opened
for the flies that drink brown liquor
and spit through rotten teeth
for the worms that deceive their own sisters
ending lives just for grinding teeth.

How have I come to hate myself?

post card from spain
i originally came
to study flamenco

25 years ago..still here then..
with the grace of the gods
and friends

some call sparrows
graceful and loving
faith and love to them..

but settled on cats
rats and carcassi..
some old old

melody..
wrote poetry
a canadian..