This is the morning
No this
this is the morning
Where etherized upon a table I will finally sit up and be seen.
No, this is the morning.

Together milling loudly across park(ing lot)s
This! This is the morning!
Perhaps you've seen me undressed, perhaps you've seen me *******.
This is Morse Code these are hieroglyphs these are fingerprints on a frozen window pane. Meaning(fully equipped with the right place for a time) nothing to lose without first finding X.

This is the morning where to stay at home to garden and crow, hooked on the missing airplane lost in spices and exotic tea.

as if pulling (on the tab)
prevents the continued closure
of the lunch box
oxen milling brunch
as it unfolds sinewed pasture
green purloining sunlight
oxen munching salami on Thursday morning
mourning the luncheon of Sunday
black black blackberries lugubrious
lubricate brioche freshness
pile of white pile of brown pile of pylons
pile (on the tab)
shots are on me
shots fired no casualties
oxen bagged lunches aren't as fun as pulling punches

Well let’s just jump right into it.

Everyone knows, the question right, “Which came first?” So let’s suppose, just for argument’s sake, in this specific case that is, that which came first was the egg. It’s also really the end of it in this case as well because there’s no chicken to follow. Just really it’s followed with the warm lettuce and the recooked bacon, the unripe tomato on a freshly baked bagel, which for argument’s sake is really the only part of the whole she-bang that’s actually any good.

But if that’s true then why even include the egg. Why abolish the chance for a chicken to exist? Why not just get a plain bagel? Well it’s about protein, you know. Does anyone really even like eggs or do we just eat them for protein? Does anyone like them, for argument’s sake let’s call it Tim Horton’s, does anyone really like them, eggs that is, when they’re cooked at Tim Horton’s? Are they even really eggs or just that powder, you know what I mean, that eggy powder like the powder milk that they have in the military? And if it is right, that eggy powder stuff, would anyone even care? Morally I mean, you have to assume people (which people I don’t know, some people I guess) stand behind eggy powder. But others right, you know the ones, who are disgusted by the idea of eggy powder. I’m one of those, not ashamed of it either and you know what, let’s just assume that it is eggy powder that they use at Tim Horton’s in their bagel BELTs. Would I have bought it if I thought it was eggy powder, probably not but here we are and I did and for argument’s sake let’s just say I already ate the whole thing. I mean morally I’ve just saved a chicken’s life but now I’m revolted by my having just consumed powdered eggs (right that’s what they’re called).

Let’s assume also that now I feel as though I’m figuratively standing on a moral high-ground but I’m also more or less disgusted by what I’ve just eaten even though I’m proud of myself for having eaten it, or rather not eaten a genuine egg. I’m ashamed of my disgust right and this has now proliferated into a casual nexus of disgust, shame and pride.

Q: Is it better to eat the powdered egg and simultaneously feel pride and revulsion or is it better to eat a real egg and **** a potential chicken?

You're always passing churches
pacing before kitchen islands and
under coffee spoons.
Village churches offer
onion justices.
City churches
hipsters
ask forgiveness on music blogs.
Childish ripples in pews,
half shouts ;
you're always passing churches.

You're always on beaches
walking on un-boardwalks and
even on  catamarans.
Tropical beaches go white
go white laugh red.
Fresh-water beaches
hunters
stalk sand between follicles of arm hair.
Elephant footprints on waves,
milked hills;
you're always on beaches.

You're always in zoos
floating faceless  around oceans and
onto broken hotels.
Provincial zoos make
west west west west exotic.
Metropolitan zoos
brothers
fight for diamond vodkas.
Flames burst over birds,
furrowed monkeys;
you're always in zoos.

there are some mornings
when I feel the weight of my hair
pulling my head down

when I can feel gravity
pulling down the subway when we cross the
bridge between Castle Frank and Broadview

there are some mornings
I don't think I can get out of bed
because the world is too real

the empty space between me
and my fingers is filled with blankets
and the meniscus of my eyelids
is curved up instead of away

Nice shoes,
Big smile,
Something expensive,
We are all fake.