ears still ringin'.
cut across from saint lau with a coupla burgers,
walk down peel, misty and damp, to a bus stop.
once home find hair smells like mcdonald’s & clouds & remember
that conversation i just had about the increasing
amount of wayward young adults..
with the driver of the 360 westbound.
---too cold for the balcony so i'll
probably just couch it & sizzle a nice bowl & wish
i had a little bit more to write tonight.

humble beginning (born from tree)
--free
young body pulp-smashed
into thin white sheet
bleached & cured & sliced.
hundred o thousands o lines like
little blue prison bars.
thin, but too close
to break out of.

too much class, and winter,
when all i’d like to do is post up
on a sunny balcony & blast out dre, or the
\/\/uutang, all 36 chambers.
*(..get me out of this lecture!)

books (kerouac/suzuki, d.t.) on & off the lap,
thick black coffee . . . cup after shaky cup
the ninth floor air humid and clinging;
do some sketches and think
about the fat magnums of wine laying
chilled in the freezer;
waiting for dave's party.

pigeons calling on the balcony
become unwitting poets
as their coos take the form
of haikus somewhere
in my third eye.

woke up a little headachey bhikku
on a thin mat, covered
with small white wool blanket
like a slip of frost.
woken by coffee, a rip (3) & a sinus pill
before rainily walking to
a belly-filling breakfast,
with the names of spadina st. shops
flying by in silent verse.