By choosing between the same two parties.
Is it really our expectation.
That we will change our lives,
enhance and greater our situation.

Now I don't want to be rude,
and forgive my profanity.
But repeating the same action expecting different results
is the exact ******* definition of insanity.

They're slowly stealing your pension,
ending all plans for retirement.
Oh, and just wait and see what FIPPA
And China do to our environment.

And yet we go to the polls,
expecting some kind of change.
Are these who are truly in charge?
Or simply tools meant to derange.

So much corruption and controversy.
**** Harper, **** Trudeau and **** the NDP.
every politicians a vandal,
exploiting our lives with each and every scandal.

Things here are escalating,
and if you don't agree.
Then what the **** happened,
downtown during G20?

When issues are met with confusion,
designed to make dissent impossible.
The people wake from their delusion,
and revolution becomes inevitable.

Raise the bar by a meter.
Or in a way it's our fault.
Do we really pick our leader,
by who can dig up dirt, lie and insult?

Let's stop all this dissonance.
Let's not be known by our apathy.
Pay attention to those in charge,
help better our lives; improve its quality.

You are a volcano
Spewing bitter ashes
Your lips are scarred with blisters
You choke on molten lava

You are a tornado
A black and angry funnel
Touching down with vengeance
Wreaking black destruction

Every time I'm in your path
You try to burn and break me
Scorch my skin with accusations
Annihilate my existence

You clearly fail to understand
That while you erupt and storm
The things your wrath devours
Are all inside of you

You are a volcano
You are a tornado
You are my beloved child
You are my force of nature

I hope someday that you will find
Refreshing rains and cooling breezes
You are the maker of weather
I am the eye of the storm.

It's the sweet smell of your hair
The sound of your voice
I would grow old with you
If I was given the choice

It's the touch of your hand
The look in your eyes
Hold hands on a blanket
And watch the stars in the sky

The smile on your face
Your comforting laugh
Woman I love all of you
I wouldn't settle for half

This is just one small part
Of all the things that I see
You've gone straight to my heart
The way I want it to be.

Tomorrow I will need to go
To a place I'll never know
I'll go there again next week
And find some more of what I seek.

I look for silence, sharp and ringing
I look to leave the things I'm bringing
There among the nothingness
I'll stop, and drop, then quick egress

Tomorrow you will find me there
Within a space I know not where
You'll find me there again next week
In silence where we dare not speak

Those backyard
days when we
lived in the
moment.
The home made
announcements done
in the violent
art of our time.
Always promising
kegged
beer and music.


We piled into
cars loaned
by parents.
Walked drunk
and as one
along the city
blocks of our
town.
All of us
flocking to
hear the voices
of our friends.

We drank hard
like young ones
should.
Smoked what was
available
and expanded our
minds with
sour caps
and toxic cartoon
printed paper tabs.

Contemplated how
things could have been
if we would
have had
D.Boon for just
a little while
longer.

Those Days
for me are
over now,
time
has held true
to its promise.

Some of the
music is still
available
,the art.

Though generations have
passed the time
still shines in
memory.

Some still
think about those
days while
paying only some
of the bills.

Drinking at home.

Doing time in prison.

Burying a friend.

Seeing Watt on his
bike along Pacific Avenue.

Reading Bukowski.

Cruising on Paseo.

Getting high alone.

This life
it ain't no picnic,
it's a history
lesson.
It's the politics
of time.

as much as i try
i cannot plan euphoric moments

things that went unplanned:

light trails and dance dresses
uniqueness found in a flood of people
hope that goodbyes will linger on
palm trees in the palm of your hand
lake eyes and tan laughter
discovering we were running for no purpose
and reminiscing barefoot nights in the trees
coughing up regretful truth
waking up on the ashy grey carpet
yet still hunting for bears
smoke and animals and faint music
letting the boiler burn and not feeling any pain
adopting gourds and playing pretend
because that's everything we can do in this life
and now i hope to never plan again

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?