Rainy day tired-eyes
one of those mornings where
all my 'achievements' are straw
and for all I care
they could be bonfired for blasphemy
70 years ago from now.

leaves manage, don't they?
blown away by float planes,
thrown away by old dames,
the same game,
return.

your cells manage, don't they?
sewn away by atomic frames,
time lapsed to transform again,
the same game,
return.

it was exactly a week ago but it feels like
Waters have paused to ask directions from air and lava
And lava, in it's lost hots, slinking its way down Mount St. Helens
Couldn't hear water

yellin'.

It's still as if
there were no Mexico
and as if
you ceased to swallow the clanks
of arachnid 'where'd-ya-go's'
in favour of
where the wild river flows

This oval prose is not a rose
It's cheaper
and I'm tellin ya
Count the rocks connected on the second front of sidewalk and that's how you might forget
how much
it costs
to miss you.

swept roads
as if, the clouds.

monday mourning
as if, the clouds.

tight muscled, barrel chested, gattling gun
as if, the clouds.

misty day if she mistakes her
lens for the world. every breath
elects new particles to the surface
of her sun. every now and again
she twitches in sleep and it's like
electric dream time spits seconds
in hours. hours in minutes. minutes
in mine. once in awhile she wakes
to stroke my back or my arm and
if holy moments are all the time, us
together float the illusion of Maya
away to be here. I look in her eyes
and tell her were just God playing
hide-and-seek. she nuzzles my nose
like a sweater cat and speaks. a
multiplicity uncorks the wine and
tells us to dance. I'm dancing. Keep
dancing.

'Next station is Bromley
South.' Cancel all my
appointments, Doris, I've
got the runs and my fault
doesn't get the joke. In a
sugar induced nose-dive
I wished you were on the
train with me, gasping at
every sight my Easter
essence was too tired
to diamond jubilee.

and feel
the pain
in my

chest.

not an option, consent. not an
option to the body and the
body and the solid
soulid body.

miracles
are
                          made of physical

matter.

so is your textbook.

              so is your Bible.

I li(o)ve in the city now

In White Rock
They paint the rock
White.

Yearly, perhaps
To keep nature nurtured?
Neutered?

I don't mind.

Either way,

It's kind of nice
To someone.

The oven whispers heat
The meal riles in smiley pain
This food is ******.

I think we all forget
Our poor old immortality.

a beginning and end have never made sense.

nothing has never made sense.

and I mean nothing.

This isn't another stupid rhyme,
Far from me,
I know it's time,
The dizzy spins,
I cannot cease,
I did much wrong,
Piece by piece,
I took you down,
The world,
Your frown,
It led me on,
To thoughts unknown,
Things unsaid,
And chances blown.

I miss you.

neckity neck you
are hurting my back
I am tired already as
sleep kept me racked
with exhaustion last
night, at night it's alright;
I remembered caffeine
and now my brains alight.
I will sleep on the bus as
it paddles to cracktown;
I will sleep on the bus as
it waddles to where
I'm soon to call home,
first I will throw the bone,
so I have something to
chew on

arrival.

So here's to all you fighters,
Living beat by beat.
Carrying but your lighters,
You travel in bare feet.

And here's to all you soldiers,
When day means life or death,
No office and no folders,
You live to aim and hold your breath.

Here's to all you mellow men,
For you, the world spins slow,
To sit or do or touch again,
Is simply part of the flow.

And here's to the depressed,
Who fight alone at home,
Missing all their social friends,
They won't pick up the phone.

And this ones to the arrogant,
The egos and inferior,
Who march throughout this strange old world,
Believing themselves superior.

But here's to all the fair men,
Who do as they see fit,
Yet never simply drop the fact,
That this world needs to be lit.

Timid as a leaf, crackling under foot as if broken spines didn't believe you.
didn't believe you? didn't believe me, but I believe myself when I state love is question
breath is answer, cornered in a universe so full the ego can't speak Latin, it doesn't matter
it never mattered, you mattered as much as matter, lost in words, lost in lungs giving expression to eternity
kings don't last, kings don't last, you last but king's don't last, I loved it, if you believe in me
It belonged to the corner that manifested as mist.

Everyone is waiting like
angry Buddhists
for the washrooms
to become vacant again.

I'm waiting for
my mind to be vacant
impatiently, like an angry
bodhisattva,

so I can get some
******* shuteye.

tears come like canons lobbing failed
shots through the psychic space
between me and your

photograph- - -    

                  they miss

                                                      they miss

                     they miss

  and roll across the fields of my cheek-bones - - -

they miss

     because they
  
                       miss

                                  you

silence

                'Admiral, order the retreat.

      We're going

home.'

The sun, may it illuminate the day,
With a brightness seen in no other way,
May it show us to the distance we call far,
With no such boundary to bar,
The potential,
Hidden within,
A deep illumination of the dark we call sin,
May it awaken,
Arise,
To burn us a path,
To see,
We are free,
But only if you believe,
And you truly wish it to be.

You are not hidden,
Unlocked, and unbound.
You have the right to the world,
Why call that profound?
Take advantage,
Show no sway,
Stand proud on your ground,
This is yours! This is ours!
The freedom is free,
It consumes everything.
You turn a blind eye,
And in a split second to count,

The freedom is gone,
All lost, dead to be free,
For it ceases to be.

like the gold at the bottom of a Yukon stream
I need to stop underestimating myself.

Kid behind me on the bus keeps punching something incessantly. I can hear society in his accent. Appeasement. He's an apple seed budding.

follow childhood dreams into capital city's of the world
you will find them on paper.

Impossible.

follow childhood dreams into valleys of the world
you will find them.


Impossible
on paper.

pros
cons
progress
congress.

countries huge, bro.

it will be a brooding day of fine, crisp air
when the world is born again.

it will seem so full, the cardboard hanging from the mantelpiece will burst into flame like a happy call to arms;
'hold me, darling.'

the facts will remain fiction, and the fiction will remain as-is, and the only real truth will be
absolutely everything.

will I fall in love with a Bodhisattva?

in love with you, in love with you,
I really am in love with you. you've
been gone for a day and a half and
already it's
everything
about
you

that I miss.
you are a soul made from stars
and water
and trees
and people.

I have all of these things
but not the combination of
their atoms at present that

form

your

presence.

this is a love-struck poem.
in love with you, in love with you,

I really am in love with you.

Gladly I sat and remembered
You were never quite here to begin with.

Gladly and madly I sat and remembered
I am never quite here to begin with.

I spread my influence on lives
And lives
And lives.

Each a part of every art
Surprise
Surprise
Surprise.

We rise at the sound of alarms on the dresser
So by 9 AM we can start saying 'yessir'
We fall back asleep at the end of the day
Like we just lived our lives through an era
Through an age

And each page read
mis
understood
By the reader

Finds itself-
Simon says
The picture is the leader.

I've made my point.

When did it occur to
me that I wasn't okay?
When did it occur to me
that I was? When did 'it'
occur? What is 'it'? What
occurred? What does it
mean to 'occur'? What
does it mean to wonder
what it means to 'occur'?
When did any of this matter?
Is any of this 'matter'? What
is 'matter'? What is what?
What? Pardon?

"Excuse me sir, this
is your stop."

Constant departure, always
arriving.

Constant departure, always
*arriving.

air smells what skin tastes like,
it depends on the 'why' you're tasting.

'Look- I'm the
boy who carries
Ativan in his pocket,
just in case. Pretty
sure that means
my potential is
going down the
drain.'

I’m living alive, so a lie is in order.

I’m tossing your worth in the form of a quarter.

My future will lie in the hands of reporters.

Altered quite favorably by the thoughts of supporters.

I’m living a lot, so much less is a blessing.

Perhaps I’m alive for these thoughts I’m assessing.

In the words of my poetry, for all I’m expressing.

Why is it the internet can be so depressing?

I’m living for love, so it’s life that I fall for.

I had no idea life could be such a tough chore.

And I had no clue that in searching for much more,

I would discover myself all alone and so dirt poor.

But it’s silly to see what is when it isn’t.

From within my mind brand new thoughts have arisen.

All these labels have taken my mind to a prison.

But what seems to rule this world is just fiction.

Or unjust is probably a better description;

As I look to escape old depictions restrictions.

someplace else would
have brought the rose.

but not Caen.

Caen made every
guest bring a
bottle, the answer
to Caen's confusion.

blast off, years off.

tears off.

land.