I see a lot of paper on your desk.
Books full of laws.
The goal of a law is to provide
safety and justice for those for whom it was written.
Those are good laws on that paper.

But if you are just going to sit there,
doing nothing,
if you are not going to take action and
make those laws and goals a reality,
then they’re nothing but a waste of paper.

Paper is a resource – it can be used as kindling.
The goal of a fire is to provide
safety, justice, shelter, food, warmth.
Dead paper is more useful as kindling.
If you care about safety –
if you care about justice at all –
you will either act on these laws, or burn them.

H    is for help! you know I'm alive
E    for estranged, expressionistics
        contrive
R    eading rhymes- revise, review
        reprise, recite- rethink and renue.
O    verwhelming-
        vertly, overdone-
         bsessive...
o  ntology~
      
Still, I'm the one.
I'm the hero, of the story-
Don't need to be saved.

Canada is afire and I’m confused, shouldn’t the snow put that out?

The Boston sky is an interesting shade of mustard yellow,
and there’s a pale orange haze where the sun should be.

Lisa, drowsily asleep-walked into the kitchen for her morning coffee.
“So this is Mars,” I observed, “Elon Musk will be so jealous.”
“Good,” Lisa said, “I was afraid it was nuclear winter.”
“There’ll be no breathing today.” I updogged.

We could almost hear the slow, delicate pitter-patter fall of micro-ash.

“There’s aaaa bright golden haze over Boston..” Lisa began to sing softly.
Lisa knows every Broadway score and can easily interpolate a song into every conversation.

canadian geese honking overhead
                     ravi shankar in my head
                               pandora's box

light dispersion
through a carved glass prism
array of colours emerging a from a single beam
diffraction
a fraction of me dies
a faction of me dyes
that's why my hair now has highlights

Going on a road trip
Something for my soul
It's gonna take a while
But, it's gonna make me whole

I'm going to cross the country
But, I'll start on both the coasts
I've been in too many bottles
Have to exorcise some ghosts

Mile Marker Three Three Three Nine
That's where the dream did end
Mile Marker Three Three Three Nine
That's where I'll start to mend

Greyhound bus out of the east
From the Maritimes my son
I'll venture through Quebec as well
This is journey number one

I'll stop and meet the people
Get their stories, of the man
I'll find the ones who met him
Try to learn just what I can

Adversity, I've had my share
Always tried self medication
Now, I need to find myself
This will take some dedication

I'll head on through Ontario
On the Trans Canada Highway route
And I'll try lose my demons
Give my devils all the boot

Brick by brick I'll bring down the walls
That over years I've built
Bricks made up of hate and rage
by love, and fear and guilt

From the west, I'll make my way
Do the highway he could not
Through the rocky mountains
Every mile is hard fought

I'll learn about the person
Who he was and who I am
I'll come through the fire stronger
I'll be a much better man

I will bus across the prairies
Through the Manitoba cold
I will focus on my endgame
I'll learn from what I'm told

Two journeys I will travel
Neither one from coast to coast
But, both are to be ended
by that famous mile post

Maybe I can find the answer
Join myself, go through the door
As he joined a nation
So many years before

Mile Marker Three Three Three Nine
That's where my journey ends
Mile Marker Three Three Three Nine
That's where I'll start to mend

I don't understand Thanksgiving
I don't understand it at all
Instead of giving thanks for things
We sit and watch football
Americans give thanks each year
For the bounties in their life
Like freedom, food and housing
A loving family, little strife
But, in Canada, it's different
We give thanks, slightly the same
But, ours is a holiday from politicians
It's not held the day we came
We watch football, and eat turkey
Gorge ourselves and fall asleep
Leaving dishes till tomorrow
We know the mess will keep
but, if Thanksgiving has true meaning
And we give thanks, I want to know
Who are we truly thanking really
Is it God ? I need to know
Are we thanking God for loving us
Even though he can't be seen
Do we thank ourselves for what we've earned
It's not as easy as it seems
I mean, really when it comes down to it
What is Thanksgiving truly for?
Is it to gorge ourselves on turkey
So we can watch football some more
It's not something that I'm fond of
It's a day off work, that's all
I'm thankful for my bounty
But, I don't know who to call
To tell that I am thankful
I'm a transplant here you see
I don't understand Thanksgiving
It don't mean much to me
If a homeless man is thankful
Is it right that some are not
They just eat and watch their football
All the things that he has not
He's as thankful as the next man
In fact I'd say he's more
Because to him, a true thanksgiving
Doesn't need to have a score.

as a kid I believed

I thought of the stars as high in a sky grown

from the ground up straight for a hundred years

in the eye-shaped pattern of sight I

with my *****-shoes dug slugging heaps in steps eighty-years

long like there was somewhere else to be or go but o this is it I'm

stuck in the awe of an out-of-focus centre and infinity that scares

me but is truly just a blurred hour glass fallen on its this side