She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a town cryer you will surely find her,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off her soul's fire,
She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a preacher, she's a beseecher,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off, her skills as a teacher.

You can tell her from her song,
A divine ditty,
It sings true and pretty,
That lifts itself above the throng,
Singing to the children,
As the adults go blithely by,
Like they do when they hear a bird in the sky,
The adults are absent minded,
Spiritually blinded,
Playing games,
But the children are kindred,
They see her flames,
And dance in its fire,
To the adults' shame,
They dance along to her lyres,
Who among us can say they came?
To witness her fitness, suffice to inspire,
Love and eternal desires.

She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a town cryer you will surely find her,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off her soul's fire,
She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a preacher, she's a beseecher,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off, her skills as a teacher.

She's writing alone,
Typing madly in to her iPhone,
Catching snippets of her mind's moan,
With inspiration at the fingertips she foams,
Half-assedly rolling smokes,
******* hard when she's taking tokes,
Finding ways to crack jokes,
Taking aim, cussing blokes
Taking wide and long strokes
That *** a whole in one,
She's not serious she's real fun,
A sizzling, smoking gun,
Who runs with the sun,
All at one,
Says it all yet there's so much more,
Can tell she feels it raw,
To love, pity and adore,
She begs the children and implores.

She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a town cryer you will surely find her,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off her soul's fire,
She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a preacher, she's a beseecher,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off, her skills as a teacher.

in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at ****** ******
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best
thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best
boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best
spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best
in front of firing squads
throwing crusts to seagulls
slicing tomatoes
that's the best
rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best

my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best
for me.

The kid whose mom always prefaced his introduction with "he's a little shy". He wasn't shy, he was careful, careful from an early age to speak only the most particular of words after seeing how it was a careless choice of words that tore his parents apart. This was the kid who could hear his father yelling and his mother crying but lacked the courage to leave his post at the bottom of the stairs and give his mom a hug. He knew that was all she really needed.

He knew from an early age all he required for a sound nights sleep was a hug and kiss from his dad. This is the kid who would stay up, wordless, into the night wondering if he was safe. As the evening waned and the hours passed he'd never think that his dad forgot. Daddy never forgets. It became his mantra and as he fell into a deep meditative state he would have the same dream as he ever had on those hug less nights. Waking up the next morning he could always recall that warm blanket of a hug because after all, daddy never forgets..

Be the kid who held his hand over his heart during the morning pledge but never volunteered to say it over the speakers because he hated the sound of his own voice. His teacher would bring it up at parent teacher night but his mom always stood up for him "he's just shy". Upon returning home they would ask how his day was and he would smile, shrug, and fall into them, simply awaiting that embrace.

Be the kid who, when his parents finally divorced, never asked them what happened. He never asked them because what if his words had the same effect? Words were lava and if you fell into them you would die. So instead you choose life. On walks home from school, hopping from stone to stone, you never squished an ant or trashed a nest, you cried for the first time when your dog died because nothing ever loved you like he did. He never said a word yet he understood you better than anyone ever did and the thought of coming home and not seeing him basking in the sunlight under his favorite spot in the living room made you bawl.

That night you would have a dream about heaven, place where you could visit in your sleep, a place where upon opening ones mouth sunbeams burst forth hot enough to bask in but never enough to burn.

Be the kid whose most anxious night was spent at that first middle school dance. Boys and girls dancing and the compulsion within him to do the same was palpable. Sure he could have danced alone but He didn't want to dance alone. He wanted to dance with that little girl sitting down by the Coke machine. The one with the frilly dress down to her knees, red band in her hair, and bangs that begged the question "where do i get me one of those. You should be this kid because he actually paid attention when his parents were watching their old movies. You would walk up to that girl and without a word look down into her eyes and for a moment forget why it is that you walked over, but when you finally came too you'd remember that scene from that old black and white movie and put your hand out just like Humphrey bugarr did - at least you think that was his name.

Be this kid because while everyone else was awkwardly moving and swaying like branches in the wind you knew how to hold someone. You knew how to have a conversation without words and this night you two were writing novels. What song was playing? No clue, she'll get mad at you one day for not remembering and you'll be surprised when it was something as stupid as 'I want it that way'.

This is the kid whose favorite nights were spent in her car after driving you home. This is the same kid who when she told him she loved him all he could think was "how can I see you so well when the porch light isn't even on?” She says again, hey - you silly goose, did you hear me? I said I love you. Be this kid because you weren't stupid like everyone else and said "I think I love you too". You grabbed her face and kissed her and for that moment both your worlds stood still. Stagnant in that pregnant pause, just before you broke, you’d catch her gaze and simply smile, warm as heaven.

Be this kid because you would never have a problem with people not liking you. You were far too observant to fall into that trap. Everyone hated the bullies and just called them jerks. The class clown was entertaining but everyone said he was dumb. The girls in the lunchroom seemed never to have anything nice to say about Jennifer and Lindsey and you couldn't even finish your lunch because you just wanted to slam your hands on the table and yell "no Sam, he doesn't like you. Maybe you should actually let him talk instead of complaining about how you don't like his friends. Next time you see him don't beg him for his jacket because, ****, it’s really cold at the skating rink in December. He told you he was taking you to the rinks, why didn't you bring your own **** jacket?

But you would never actually say that, because people would label you judgmental. Rather, remain in peace as the quiet kid because no one could ever put a label on you with any certainty. Sure they could say you were mean, more likely they would say you're weird, but you had loyal friends. Friends who upon hearing that would ask "Really? He's weird? Why is he weird hmm?” Their rebuttal was always "I mean...I dunno, he just really weird, I guess". You would never give them an actual reason to hate you. The meanest things they could ever say about you would be opinion. Opinions are like really *******. Full and generally well rounded, but in the end it was the real stuff you were after.

Be the quiet kid because your silence would show strength. When she breaks up with you through oceans and sands miles away over the phone you won't say a word. She won't be able to see the look of devastation in your eyes and she'll feel terrible for doing it. She would tell her friends that you were so strong. "He didn't yell he, he didn't argue, he didn't ask me if there was another guy, he didn't even cry". Yeah. You cried. But she would never know how much.

Be the quiet kid who always meets someone else. The quiet kid who will draw in strangers because they can feel his energy, they're figuratively and literally moved by it. They sit down next to you across the bench and introduce themselves with a perfectly innocent "whatcha reading?” Which you think is a dumb question because the words “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime” were clearly printed in large yellow text on both the front and back covers. Simple trivialities.

Be the quiet kid because the quiet kid will become a quiet man, a quiet man who people could always turn to as their rock. You are stable, you are certain, and you always display your emotions because how else would you speak?

Be the quiet kid because the quiet man will have quiet children, and their children will be quiet and the children after them will be quiet too. Be the quiet kid because you and all your quiet children will never forget to give your kids their goodnight hug.

Winter Vacation was coming
The kids were all set
They were thinking of Christmas
And the gifts they would get

But, Millie sat waiting
Thinking of nothing but snow
Watching the class clock
That was moving so slow


They did arts and crafts
Made cute cards for their folks
Sang old Christmas songs
And told old Christmas jokes

But Millie, our Millie
Was miles away
Thinking of Michigan snow
In which she'd soon play

She packed up her things
Then the bell filled the air
She waved to the teacher
And burst out of her chair

Faster than reindeer
She was gone from the school
Off to get packed
For a vacation so cool

She ran all the way home
She had sweat on her face
Left her books at the door
And grabbed her pink case

Millie was ready
With one thing on her mind
She was off to see snow
And leave the sunshine behind

She'd packed and unpacked
Twice every night
Now she was sure
That her bag was packed right

Winter vacation
In the north in the snow
She'd be there in hours
Just one night to go

She tossed and she tumbled
But she woke right at five
She showered and dressed
She felt so alive

They loaded the car
And they left in a rush
Millie was set
And gave her hair a quick brush

They got to the airport
At nine twenty two
They checked her small bag
Which was nearly brand new

They went to the gate
They met a woman in tan
He said "Hello, there Millie"
"I'm your steward...names Anne"

"Before we go on"
"There's someone else you should meet"
"He's a pilot, our Captain"
"And his name is Pete"

She kissed Mom goodbye
And she kissed her dad too
Anne took her aboard
To sit in seat number two

Millie was nervous
But, excited as well
She told Anne her feelings
Anne said "I won't tell"

The plane taxied out
Left the ground with a roar
Millie's tummy, it rumbled
Like it had never before

Anne came and sat
In the seat by her side
She said "Look over there"
"Those are clouds right outside"

Millie and Anne
Talked all the way there
Of the Christmas to come
They made quite a pair

The Captain announced
They were all set to land
When the plane hit the ground
Millie grabbed Anne's right hand

The big door then opened
They got off of the plane
At the end of the ramp
She saw her cousin, named Jane

Her Grandparents met her
Thanked Anne, said good bye
Anne said "Have a Good Christmas"
Millie said "I'll certainly try"

Jane and her brother
Had come for Christmas as well
With her Grandparents and cousins
Christmas was sure to be swell

They went to pick up her luggage
And then go out to the truck
Her bag came out first
It was her Christmas luck

The first thing she saw
As she held Grandpa's hand
Was no snow on the ground
This was not what she'd planned

Her parents had told her
About the Michigan snow
About snowmen, and snowballs
And the wind, how it'd blow

She kept quiet, said nothing
There was no snow to be seen
As she looked out the window
The grass was still green

Maybe, just maybe
I'm early she thought
It'll snow here tomorrow
Today is too hot

She played with her cousins
Called her folks about four
Rode bikes that her Grandpa
Bought them all at the store

Nothing was different
It was just like at home
No snow blowing white
Nothing fluffy like foam

She went to bed early
It had been a long day
She kissed her grandparents goodnight
And then hit the hay

She dreamed of the winters
Of the snow on the ground
She dreamed about snowmen
And climbing up a snow mound

The next morning she woke
Ran and opened the drape
Wrapped it round her neck
And looked outside, with her cape

Green as could be
For as far as she looked
There was no snow here
Millie felt she'd been rooked

She sat quiet at breakfast
Made barely a sound
Then she asked Grandma
"Why's there no snow on the ground?

"My big Christmas wish"
"Was to snow, snow...for real"
"It's just like at home"
"Grandma, what's the big deal?"

"We've had some strange weather"
"It's been warm every day"
"They just do not know"
"How long it will stay"

"I'm sorry dear Milie"
"This is just how it's been"
"I'm afraid that this Christmas"
"Is one that is green"

Millie, sat silent
Went outside then to play
There was no snow coming
There'd be no snow today

Depressed as she was
She had fun, best she could
Riding bikes around town
It was fun, but not good

With one day till Christmas
She called up her Dad
In the call she then told him
Of how she felt sad

She loved both her cousins
And her grandparents too
But, she just couldn't go
And do what she wanted to do

She'd come up to the north
To have some fun with the snow
She wanted to leave
But, she'd not let them know

They had dinner at six
Millie went up to bed
She was asleep in a moment
Christmas dreams in her head

At seven oh three
She woke up, looked outside
And she stood at the window
With her eyes open wide

The front lawn was covered
There was snow all around
She woke up her cousins
Down the stairs they did bound

They opened the door
To a yard full of white
Christmas had come
Bringing snow in the night

Out on the road
She says other kids too
All in their pjs
And some with no shoes

They were all throwing snowballs
Making angels as well
this was what she had wanted
Christmas was gonna be swell

During the night
While the kids were asleep
Out to the arena
Grandpa did creep

He'd called in some favours
Got the snow from the rink
Then they brought it out here
"Christmas magic" they'll think

The kids can't have Christmas
With no snow to be seen
It just isn't Christmas
With a yard that is green

Phone calls were made
To some other rinks too
And the ski hill as well
Knew what they must do

A parade of dump tucks
And machines that both blew
Came to help Grandpa Joe
Make Millie's Christmas wish true

It lasted four hours
Then it melted away
But, for Millie, our Millie
It was her best Christmas day

Wishing is magic
And dreams, they are too
So, believe just like Millie
And make your Christmas wish true

This winter, I find myself raw,
chapped and tender like the skin
of my over-chewed bottom lip.

My mouth is always the one
that takes the most damage.
I catch myself on my front two teeth,
both with cracks on the side
from where my face kissed
the floors of roller skating rinks
and the frame of my grandparents' bed.

The help me bite my tongue
in moments of assurance
and bite my lip
when I falter under the weight
of my own name.

I am not a carnivore, nor someone
who wants to take you in,
and scrape the meat from your bones.

I'm a woman, with pink gums
and a sharp tongue that stabs me
in the roof of my mouth
and hurts me more than any of the hands
that have ever struck my face.

It's not because I'm weak or submissive,
I'm callow still,
constantly falling in love with
every person I touch,
not yet cultivated enough
to give them the words
I once promised.

6 happy songs

1. Oui hear
What we appear
What, we appear?
What
Where

Capturing the in
The expressable in it
Capped in it
In
Into

Together to gather
To Get Her - To Gat Her
Two Gets-together
Gether
Glather

Troubling isn't it
Very troubling
Trouble some
Some troubles in ning
Inklings
Inner rings

Der Rinks
Der

2. Vert
Over therr
Overt therr
Knew a woman who was livin
Oh Vert Herr!

Oh Vert Herr!
Over therr
Err a woman who is livin
Oh Vert therr!
Err
Err

3. Bleu
A cloud farmer
I eye the sky
Eye the sky
Eye the sky
A cloud farmer
I eye the skye
Eye the sky
Wide

4. Blanc
Here is the blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blank
Here is the blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blanking blank
Blank


5. Rouge
They come to me in ones and twos
Ones and twos
Ones and twos
They come to me in
Ones and twos
Ones and twos it's
True


6. Noir
Brush away noir noir
Brush away noir
Brush away noir noir
Noir noir no
More No more
Noir noir no
Moe

BABY vamps, is it harder work than it used to be?
Are the new soda parlors worse than the old time saloons?
  Baby vamps, do you have jobs in the day time or is this all you do? do you come out only at night?
In the winter at the skating rinks, in the summer at the roller coaster parks,
Wherever figure eights are carved, by skates in winter, by roller coasters in summer,
Wherever the whirligigs are going and chicken spanish and hot dog are sold,
There you come, giggling baby vamp, there you come with your blue baby eyes, saying:
  
    Take me along.

I have heard in far of places, where evil men do dwell
That in this place, there is no light in shadows spell
They are filled with hate and ordained, to walk the path alone
Their tears are dry, they cannot cry and hearts are made of stone

The heart of a man is stonier than where love refuses to grow
Where time is a word of fate, exchanging tears for blood to flow
Carnage in destructions belly, monsters of burden take to air
With gnashing teeth and jagged claws, you cry out in despair

To be trapped within a web of lies, hope that depletes your soul
They grin with fangs of blood and gore and discern no self control
Your children’s smiles feed the gluttony, of love’s casual distain
Wicked unimagined pain; brief satisfaction is what they gain
So out to hunt again, their belly’s worn from gravel and slither
They drain the world of faith, while the sun commences to wither
Angels grounded devoid of flight; heats of hell seared their wings
The birds of night taken flight, from darkness abyss as banshee sings
People are blinded by phantoms smoke, cursed as walking dead
They walk with sin right next to them, on streets all paved in red
Bones of victims piled in heaps; while hunting vultures circle round
Ghosts of martyred blameless souls concealed within the ground
The earth struggles to purge itself of human infestation
Quakes, storms and inferno’s flames since dawn of mans creation
The devil strides, with jokers grin and gloats sincere admiration
Knowing the ****** hearts in evil men is beyond all restoration
The world is sick, no cure in sight we breed like pox and boils
Contamination of humanity rinks the fleshy earth rots and spoils
The ocean leaps and bounds trying to soothingly lick the sores
This far off place where evil men dwell finally washed up on our shores

It’s a “travel week” here in Georgia. I’m writing this on June 1st at the Atlanta airport. This morning Sunny’s flying in from Nebraska, Sophy from California, Lisa from New York and Anna from Oregon - all around noon. Charles put a hard-shell luggage carrier on the roof of the Navigator because he didn’t trust it to hold the luggage 4 girls could bring.

My parents left last Saturday for Warsaw to join “Doctors Without Borders.” Charles, Leong and I drove them to the airport and then we took Leong to “The Mad Italian” for the best steak & cheese sandwiches on this side of andromeda.

Sunday was a typical lake day. We tied off in our favorite cove and were quickly joined by everyone who could get on a boat. Imagine that Dunkirk movie - except this was a get together - with motorboats, sailboats, skiffs, pontoon boats and canoes all crowding the little bay.

Leong’s an avril lavigne - who knew? On Monday, I surprised her with something green - a trip to “Fun Galaxy” roller-skating rink. I made reservations for a “birthday party” and a group of 15 of us had the rink to ourselves all morning (and cake). I thought I was a skater but Leong’s legit. She says that in Macau you either skate on the street (rough terrain and dangerously between cars) or at one of several huge multisport pavilions where the rinks are cement and resemble our skateboard courses.

She’d never seen an air-conditioned, basketball-court-smooth-hardwood, disco-lit, rock concert sounding, American roller rink. It was love at first sight. She spins, does double lutzes, skates faster backwards than I can forwards, and the manager threatened to pull her off the floor for doing backflips (“There are liability issues,” he insisted.) She was also amazed because there was a built-in diner. At home, she said, you have to bring your own water and sometimes your own toilet paper (toilets are completely different in Asia - don’t get me started on THAT).

Yesterday, Leong, Kim and I were waiting for a Facetime call, to coordinate today’s arrivals.
Before that though, at my behest, Kim helped me ferret-out - Holmes & Watson like - the dire skinny on something, and we, as long time besties and co-conspirators, had a plan.
“Did you know Rob Chen was class valedictorian this year?” Kim asked the room.
“No!, congratulations Rob,” I said.
“Yea, Rob,” Leong echoed nonchalantly.
“We’re so proud of Rob.” Kim continues.
“But, you know,” I said seriously, “there are Rob haters out there. I understand it - he’s hateable,” I expand.
“ek,” Kim blurted, like a little bird, at Leong’s reaction as Leong gasps, “What.. Why?”
“Because he dresses ugly!” I explained.
Kim, unable to curb her excitement, squeaks out loud.
Leong looked at Kim, shocked, Kim was looking down and rocking with the effort of silence.
“That’s not enough REASON,” Leong blurts, “to hate someone!
Again, Leong looked to Kim for agreement and got none.
“I don’t hate YOU,” Leong says, turning on me.

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“WOW.. wow,” I say, as Kim nervously snickered with glee.
“First of all,” I begin, between my own chuckles, a defense:
“I’m wearing a very **** black ensemble but not exactly dressed to go OUT, (Kim laugh-coughed) and SECOND,” I pause for drama-queen effect.
“YOU,” I say, turning my head significantly and accusingly, towards Leong, slightly askew for a better view, “seem to have quite a few hickies on your neck this morning.”
Kim can't stand it any more and squeals, full out, with delight.
“You, need,” Leong said, pausing just before she lunges at me playfully, to put her hand over my mouth, “to cut off THAT line,”
“I knew it.. I KNEW it!” I say, bobbing and turning my head away as Leong pins me with her body while still trying to mug me and we’re all howling with laughter now.
“Those are Rob Chen hickies! - I. KNEW. IT.”

The facetime ring interrupts us and Leong reluctantly lets me go to answer it.
We all sober as she moves to press “Accept.”
“Let me just loop-back to say,” I looked at Kim with elementary-dear-Watson satisfaction, and said to Leong, “you didn’t deny it,”
Leong blushes crimson as the call begins.

It’s so miniscule—
this interval, this growing up

You fool yourself
into believing
it won’t ever end,
as if you could turn it back
to the beginning
like a radio dial
and let that hot-pink rapture
pour over you
again and always
but eventually it comes
to a close
and as I look back on my own
I feel like digging it a grave,
giving it a proper ceremony

Here Lies a Brief Forever
the epitaph would say

Here lies unearthly hardship
my hands gripping that first notebook
a screen door thrown open
dresses I wore and grew out of
wildflowers picked too soon
a head scribbled dark with sadness
glitter and one-sided love
bathrooms I wept in
swooping optimism
woods astir with light
heartsick
surreal courage
evolution
expansion
people who didn’t understand and
people who did
moon dancing
the carpet where I spilled English Breakfast
the road where I slashed
my knee open
and blood flew everywhere
breakdowns
the rush of space between
vocals and bass drop
snowflakes blinked away
my father gone
my mother remaining
credit-rolling darkness and a girl
hair I wanted straight until
I didn’t
stars burning and seething
ice rinks
aloneness and unity and
aching forward motion

She is like the colour Red,
the colour of a beating heart as it is donated from a loved one to their partner, she is the colour of her perfect blush
she is perfect beautiful,
dangerous,
entrancing,
marvellous,
wonderful.
She's my only one.

She is like snow,
fresh snow, so perfect and amazing,
she makes my eyes light up and smile,
she is beautifully perfect,
and brings happiness to everyone,

she is the picturesque villages that one can fall in love with again and again every day. She is the frozen lakes that provide the childhood ice rinks where children play and dance, safe and happy.

She is...

I'll get so **** drunk on senseless time
I'll get drunk on all the crime
Hiding bottles in drawers and desks
Smoking underneath stairs to get rid of pesks
Dealing in parks and day-cares
Shooting guns in pairs

Dried-up tears
And dead years
Drugs laced around drinks
Falling down in skating rinks
Broken skin, hoping to numb the pain
Everyone talks while thoughts go down the drain
Taking forever to let it out
Living forever in this drought

Making drugs in someone else's backyard
Abusing children while praying hard
Gambling high while money is low
Crushing heads just to make a show
Molding young minds just to get cash
Taking happiness and turning it all to ash.

But we live like it's alright
Because soon everything is going to die....

Alcohol take the pain of the tears away
Tears take away all the bad days
Drunken nights full of unnecessary tears
Oh my, oh my. oh my.
Maybe I will get drunk again...

time shrinks
she thinks
like ice in rinks
and overflows the sinks
she blinks
seeing shades of pinks
they're links
living on the brinks
a jinx
[she] turns into a minx
and drinks
unlinks
empties out the sinks
and shrinks

When snow starts falling in Canada We know winter games shall begin.
Do we just sit around fireplaces?
No, that would be a sin. Snowball fights daily in our schoolyards,
Till the bell calls them in. Rosie red cheeks on children,
Mittens with scarf’s and hats, Snowmen in every front yard,
Put away are the bats. Indoors a haven for cats.
Ski’s out and waxed, Skates sharp as knives,
Skating rinks are full Of children,
husband, wives. Tobogganing so exiting,
Curling extremely fun, Hockey,
number one. Cold feet, Hot chocolate.

It’s refreshing to see a breath of fresh air
Out here in this desolate world.
I find it harder and harder to breathe this pollution,
I don’t even have asthma and I’m under attack.

The lights are turned low and I’m starting to feel
All that pressure that movies have branded me with
And I don’t know which girl I should be dancing with
So I never did.

As the disco ball turns, sending squares of light
Over everyones faces, I feel a change.
Something oddly barometric is sending waves into my head,
This doesn’t happen often, it’s so peculiar
That the moment you walk in the doors, your friends
And your loved ones scream for more of your laugh and your
Voice and that smile that cures all diseases and
Gently squeezes and pleases all newcomers, old friends, and
All in between.
Red lipstick parts, shows a pearly white gleam,
My stomach is ready to burst at the seams,
She was made for the 20’s, stuck in 2013,
Finishing sentences, dinners, and drinks,
Movies and beach nights and ice skating rinks.
I’d do anything and everything just to simply
Hold your hand, if only for a minute.
A minute can feel like forever in the right hands.
So why don’t you lend me your right hand,
I’ll guide us both somewhere, nowhere, anywhere,
The where that no one dares to go, the where that
No ordinary people know, the where where all the pretty flowers grow
And I’d pick them all for you.

I’ve always just floated through life, and I passed up
Great memories as I did that but now is the time to
Give up that and make memories that will last
Past forever.

I’ve always sheltered my words to myself, but
Now I can’t stop them from coming.
I’ve always run away from the public’s keen eye but
Now you, you have stopped me from running.
Let’s play a guitar to the beat of our hearts and
Not be afraid to dance in the dark,
See the world from the top of a Ferris Wheel,
Ferris Bueller skips class like my heart skips beat after beat,
I’ll make you pancakes from scratch and nobody
Else is invited to our Breakfast Club.

You wish that you love life was more like a John Hughes flick?
Skip town with our boombox, dance all night to that groove ****.

I awaken to the lonliest sound
Heard on the Seaway:
The plaintiff fog horn,
One continuous, wayward hooooom.
Again, it sounds travelling
Across water dunes to another
Holy town, lights blinking.

J.W. left a brochure;
They knocked on a locked door.
The rain erupts on my deck boards;
There's dog droppings on my lawn;
Birds are singing in the morn,
And I open my door.

Imagine, a new by-law prohibiting
Backyard rinks;
There are no icicles,
No tongues extended palate-like;
No salt lines on my boots;
And I haven't seen a one horse sleigh
Or heard harness bells.
The North Pole and Santa have been exposed.
I have a Christmas wish,
And I'm ready to use it.

There was another brother whom history forgets
And though born a fisherman, he preferred other nets.
The coterie of rink rats who lived on the Left Coast
Thought he was sine qua non, and they would often boast
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

His slapper had heat to make a goalie wet himself;
His wrister was money either five-hole or top-shelf.
After the goaltender felt another puck **** by,
He’d curse and bang the crossbar as fans took up the cry
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

He dominated rinks out West like no other man
From Calgary to Saskatoon, Fresno to Spokane.
He’d hat tricks in Winnipeg, six-point games in Moose Jaw
Moving scribes to hackneyed verse written in fits of awe.
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

Though the man was a fine skater, strong, agile and fleet
The slightest flaw in the ice caused anguish to his feet
And he would scold arena crews—What’d you call this mush?
‘Tis nothing but chips and ruts; I’d rather skate on slush!
(More prickly than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gio.)

After one match in Oakland on ice unduly rough
He stormed into the locker room, shouting ‘Nuff’s enough!
He didn’t change his sweater as he stormed out the door,
Hopping on a trolley car, to be seen never more
(He’s a bit loony, don’t you know.
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)

He was sighted in the Yukon, once or perhaps twice
Engaged in some mad mission to find the perfect ice.
Neither man nor beast can say what became of this fool,
Though bits of skate lace appear in petrified bear stool
(Tastes better than his brother Joe?
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)

looking out through rose-tainted windows
and peach-skin dreams.
the world around you
(you´re such a good boy)
is such a new thing
and you haven´t got the time
(it´s time to leave the playground now)
to waste on all these simple things
like figurines on icy roller rinks
or wet flamingos in bright pinks
shining like the stars that
drink
the darkness out of the night

the world around you
fairly new
might seem too small
for all your dreams to
bottle
(you can be anything)
and it is

Dear Summer,
Thank you for the Rain
Days spent at skating rinks
Summer classes
And hours spent in the car.
Thank you for the new experiences
The opportunities
And lots of new friends.
Thank you for the hard work
The challenges
The ends
And new beginnings.
The heartaches
The headaches
And plenty of growing pains.
Thank you for the warmth
The scolding asphalt
Lying in the sun and burning to a crisp.
Thank you for that one day I spent time with my family
The trip I took with my friends
And everything in between.
Goodbye Summer, you were magnificent.

To shake the powdered atoms
from the flaking cavern walls

That fossil horn
has summoned tribes
from different walks
alive tonight
Loose trousered hounds of pedal drums
are swilling bass for rocket fuel
All spastick in the rinks of treble,
  animating vertebrae
  draw talismanic creatures
rolling planets from
their shoulder blades.
Into the gathered sound

The ritual breaks a rip- tide sweat
A chance to wake the daemon
through those coronets of frequency
for stussy armoured Sufi
whirling
pneuma to humidity
A circled dharma rhythm-grasp
a knowledge passed from
Astronaut cartographers.

Acoustics of the standing stones
the hunting party hill-top chants
a triumph in the sacred groves
two hundred thousand years
of dance,

Have brought us here.

I came out the womb with skates on, cut the ice before my teeth
My religion worships Gretzky, I was baptized in the crease
I got sharp eyes for action, grew up three rows from the glass
So why can’t I want to kick some—and also get some ***?

These bros, since I was little, thought because I was a girl
That the ***** standing next to me knew more about this world
They’d even ask my boyfriend all the questions ‘bout the team
Though he didn’t know a thing and kept directing them to me

They always thought that I had just got dragged there by my man
When it was just the opposite; they didn’t understand
That I kept stats for fun before I ever got a date
That I helped recruit a forward to the team back in ‘08

That the coordinates to both my rinks are tattooed on my neck
That a 1-3-1’s the power play that’s worst to play against
That I haven’t missed a game in Cloud for 27 years
That I rattle off statistics like I’m in Sam Rosen’s ear

And this is what I said to prove I was a “real” fan;
‘Cause I guess the logic is if I’m attracted to a man
And he plays the sport, I only come in hopes of getting laid
Apparently it can’t be both; a body and a brain.

So bros call me a puckbunny: the hockey word for ****.
And they spit it like an insult, but lately, I say “so what?”
“Big D” can stand for “****” and “defense;” I don’t want just one.
You close the five-hole in the game; you spread it when it’s done.

So my libido is on fire for a goalie I admire
And that save percentage higher than the tent inside his sheets
And if we finally win a title, I could be his motorcycle
Hold me like the Cup and ride me hard until I overheat

And the banners were the reason in the 2013 season
That I spent the winter frequently rewarding goals scored
I committed to the mission; might’ve just been superstition,
But I got what I was wishing for so fine, call me a *****

And I maybe want to **** him but I hate it’s your assumption
That I’m all about the lovin’ when I’m all about the game
And I’m dropping all this knowledge ‘bout the prospects still in college
And for all your **** I promise you don’t even know their names

And ******* right I know more than the bro around the block
And ******* right you’d catch me ******* Tyler Seguin’s ****
And ******* right when Kreider drives the net it turns me on
And ******* right that goal red light district can’t be wrong

And ******* right I’ve got a third line notch up in my belt
And ******* right I’ve finally just embraced this sense of self
And ******* right I live and breathe and bleed the game of puck
And ******* right sometimes I guess I’m just a big old ****.

Methinks and then rinks
just to be unwrinkinkable

you were there for me once upon a time,
    in sleepless nights and ungodly hours,
                and forgotten wishes made on shooting stars.

you were there for me once upon a time,
                in empty rinks at midnight,
    and fractured memories of a better time.

your sparkling eyes wink back at me whenever i fall,
a starburst of flashing streetlights and glittering stars,
filled with infinite opportunities and unfulfilled dreams,
with stores to explore and people to meet,
and it always felt as if you were healing my broken heart with your blinding colors.

your voice is an orchestra,
made of a toddler’s excited squeals and a young man’s silent tears,
made of a mother’s soft lullabies and a businesswoman’s clicking heels,
made of honking cars and laughing schoolchildren.
it cannot be silenced,
no matter how hard they may try to force your mouth shut.

you are the long walks at night,
the glances out the window of a glass rink,
the prayers from my balcony.  

in the end, i want to thank you,
for growing up with me and teaching me everything i know,
and for being a part of me i’ll never forget.

As fawns become stags
And leaves, fallen gold,
As lakes freeze to rinks
So our hearts turn to stone

For our love has left us
With geese in the sky
But we'll remember September
'Til the day we die.

- p. winter

Sixteen,
drenched feet tread
away from school to
a small pond I call home.
The rain beats against my back,
shoves my head into the water.
Water’s weight
drips from my hair
and shatters my reflection.
Now I am ugly.
Now I am a thousand plastic pieces polluting
this sickened sea and its
seasick schools of fish.
Deprecation drowning their gills and
choking out compliments.
Six pack rings
ring open their stomachs.
Swallowed plastic bags that
drift along the surface.
The surface of the water,
the surface of my face
fake in this plastic shadow
suffocating my gaze.
Vision fading,
my goals disintegrating,
dissociating into a saltwater solution:
one part school,
part parents,
part disappointment
drizzles down my esophagus and
evaporates into tear gas,
tearing my throat open.
Once a bottle so voiceless,
now a riptide of voices
pulling my tears back
to the edge of my eyelids.
The edge of a pond
shut tight under
ice sheets,
skating rinks for their words
worn down by the raindrops.
The rain,
the tears falling from
the clouds in my mind follow
the child melting his way back home,
opening the door to my soul.

Do tears make you blink
Or thoughts of diamond rings
Soft lips softer kiss
And skating rinks

Tear bite size pieces
Off of you for me to eat
A whole meal would just leave me
Empty and incomplete

Like lines from the worst song
Your voice lingers
Like a cranberry
You’re sweet but also sour

**** your drunken threats
Incomplete thoughts
Incomplete *****
Is all you ever gave

A time for change
Times are changing
Wake up and open your eyes
I’m wide awake and outside

President wants us dead for the bottom line
Maybe after its over they might give him a fine
More like he'll get paid and it'll get called fine
Every rotten thing I thought of this home of mine

Confirmed by massive stock dumps at the onset
Could have saved a thousand lives instead get
To make a death cult worshiping  the market
Divided on whether our lives are worth it

Government is arguing on if they should **** the poor
Cause they aren't making enough millions this quarter
Trying to push the death toll even higher
Nothing changed, seeing its just easier

Bloodshed of decades propagated by us
Bloodshed instigated by our vote in the U.S.
Now the murderous ignorance will hurt us
Uneducated voters and idle people of the U.S.

Blood of the poor who cant get healthcare
Blood of the third world to small for care
Lives ruined for capital and power ever year
Lives ruined for capital today its so near

Ice rinks filled with corpses are the price
Sweat shops and misery are the price
Ghettos and brutality are the price
A world burning to ash is the price

For our gross negligence these are the costs
For our uneducated country lives are lost
For a red cult once again America could be lost
A new red scare more insidious than the last

People support elephants as they get crushed underfoot
They loathe they're constituents willing to make any cut
Cut education, cut healthcare, but the always get their cut
excised the experts, gutted the cdc, its so clear ******* cut

Who is rotting the body why is this body failing
Maybe its all those cuts amputating everything
Maybe its the glut of wealth stopping blood flowing
Maybe its the suicidal gasping and grasping

Always reaching for the wealth and power
Rabidly wanting higher, higher, higher
When 99.99% of ******* fall lower
And the .001% stand on corpses piling higher

And all I can do is sit quarantined and vent my anger

brings ice scrapers out                      
makes concrete walks skating rinks
ice covers limbs, sleet

on your head
as dandruff, shakes off
in bed. And it falls all over
me as snow on the old oak tree.

The frost
on your lashes
are frozen crystals
from all the years you
cried. They solidified.

The frost
on your lips
have sunken ships. You’ve
icebergs as teeth. You’re breath
an artic blast, even a polar bear
couldn’t fare.

The frost
on your hands
are hockey rinks. Every finger
is an icicle stick. This heart
the puck you bat around. I’m flying
high on the ground.

sleep harmonious sleep such great medicine
but sleep sometimes so pointless
when one does not dream much
so sleep can be stretched to a different cycle:
the length of a day on the moon
is like... 567hours... last time i heard:
oh: the first colony must be the moon
i wonder:
because those 1960s photographs
from the moon were pretty ****...
so people asked: is there a night on the moon?
well! yeah! but there's also a day!
the light side of the moon is as sunny
as on earth!
and it doesn't last for a fraction of the 24 hours...
it last for like two weeks...
according to the muslim and hebrew calendar!
i mean: **** me...
but as i tell my partner:
see those clouds in the sky...
those lowest are water clouds:
absorb and defract colour...
but those other clouds: high high up...
those are ice clouds...
they look like god's doodles from where
derived language of the higher esteem
beyond the hieroglyphs...
ice clouds: always white:
pristine... god this god the painter with light
and composer of sounds...
but those highest of clouds
never turn light into colour...
doodle in the sky remnants of god
scribbling...
             well... the Light Side of the Moon
is like a joke about Alaska
and how sunny it is insomnia over there
during summer... spring...
like everyday life in London:
insomniac neon blue and... alabaster...
gubernatioral... love the sound of words
from time to time...

so Mark Nathan finally caught up with my plan!
mate: i want to be more important than
constructionw workers when it comes to shuffling
through the hours of the day...
i want to be a poet: i want to make my
morning commute like i was the first one...
i was the archtiect of language...

if my last check call comes in at 5:45am and
Mark is there because he wasn't slept since 2:30am
and that's because he likes to go to bed early...
so i can get there for 5:45pm...
we started from sheering off half an hour
before the actual clock-off of 7pm...
that became 6:30am/pm, 6:15...
and then a massive flip to: half an hour...
5:45am/pm...

                           sure, minimum wage....
what isn't, these days?
harrowing hours, never see the chance to socialize
on the weekend...
drinking culture...
beer and all the jovial spirits...
but no hard ***** drinking and hard conversations
and hard scribbling and hard thinking?
just jovials spirits of wine and beer and cider...
no real culture of pushing the limits
on such spirits as *****...
i tried whiskey but i am not a rock star
so can't summon the bourbon spirit...
***** is for slavic intellectuals... i'm afraid to say:
that's what ruined my uncle Martin:
he tried to be so so English
he didn't realise that England was changing
and so he fled back to Poland...
but in his genes there was the bedrock
of hard intellectualistion:
like ***** is water
like there's hard water and there's soft water...

i know: i did say...
40cl per session: but you smoke a joint first...
why? because you want to get off
drinking a litre of *****:
sleep-deprivation:
the active ingredient is marijuana with
your intellect:
oddly enough after seeing Dekalog 7, 8....
a while while back...
i decided to go back to my roots...
Polish culture... Polish language...
sorry... nothing personal: i'm not English...
i just have this tongue...
Dekalog 1...                  watch it watch it!

also, before i forget...
also...
ahem! ladies and gentlemen! i bring you!

🍼             and                😬

pacifier 1.0            and pacifier 2.0
pacifier of the ****** = no teeth....

pacifier 2.0 of the nibble
of a **** = plenty of teeth!
                 but once i tasted the ****:
i need a night guard pacifier:
because my tongue is so insatiable
and i could never bite on your lips
ooh yes yes!

better than circumcision!
make sure young males have the ******
pacifier then
find a woman to prescribe him
a night buard... from ****** to *****
pacifier...
/how's my low tone Taylow Swift
never ever getting back together on feminism?!/

what of the scientific method:
wasn't it always true that in order to draw
a straight line: you needed to know two points?
so this one almost fake because it was
despair to conquer a riddled ideology...

your guys landed on the moon at night!
we don't actually know what landing
on the moon during the moon's daylight
hours is like!
we have not yet experienced landing
on the moon during the daytime...

catalogue Dekalog 1 for me...
the genius and his genius child prodigy
that ends up only thinking about skating
on ice
but there were no ice rinks back then
so there was a need to gamble
of scientifically improve on studying
ice density...
but the kid drowned and AI was born...
to no god a tool that is technology
this iconoclasm of complexity:
give me the basic details! son, and show me father!

i got home early then decided to help mother
put out the washing to dry...
if i see this one ******* the northern line
coming from Morden
via Elephant and Castle...
jeans... shy with a baseball cap...
exposing her collar bones...
fury and scent i want! i want! meat-canyon that
youtube cartoon artist...
like i want to see Wimbledon with you
sort of vibe of a girl...

no wonder Alien and Predator arrived
and the fear...
where the trinity of Cluastrophobia
Islamophobia and Arachnophobia merged...
with massive spider of the Quran...
because the Palestainians
in the Arabic world are like... what?
what the Jews were to Europeans...
but also weren't because Jews are Jews
and Palestinians are what in the Great Ummah?
****'a foddler?

           i see a correlation of races...
the Europeans (Russians, mongrels)
and the Orientals combined....
the Eastern Indians and the Aztecs and other Indians...
which leaves Africa... black supremacy?
really? so the Europeans with their ties
to Europe were one product of time
the Africans had no ties with the Arabs?
so now we're all couple... Finns, Eskimos and Penguins...
seriously?!
2 + 2 = 1

  don't understand the logic of passing a numbers
via 2 x 2 = 5...
but then i'm working the dynamic of + and not x
addition: not multiplication...
by addition i imagine a continuity, history....
by multiplication i envision the spontaneity of
phenomenons
like some audacities of biology getting a brain
and thinking something for a while:
then disappearing like an idiocacy: because of
the mechanisations of both evolution
and automation...

i do like going home before all the construction
workers start their shifts...
i'm going home when they're going to work
and i don't even have to meet their scrutiny
as the first arrived morning ***** of adherents
to the day...
mate! we only, supposedly, landed on the moon:
once... and it was during the night!
hence why picture of earth are like pictures
of the moon on earth....
we didn't ******* land on the moon
during the moon's daytime hours!
Bogus ******* compass: hey... "Columbus":
no Copernicus on the ship that Newton ******
a gay sailor on!

the ancients Soviets will have the right to dream
with assurance this observstion...
so you landed on the moon
while we were first into space...
but you have given us so much insignificance terror
for having navigated so: spectacular without
a proper subjective gravity and grammar:
she he she they thou it nothing
you don't even know how to make do
with those pictures...
so much psychadelic poison:
imagine the fluke of a chance
of landing on a day on the moon:
you'd forget going further into Mars...
just revise landing on the Moon during the Moon's
daytime hours
and take pictures... it's science:
you need to compare! compare! stop being Sodomites
start being scientists!