Poetry
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the streets by which she goes
the streets by which she goesevery morning this morning they’rewinter streets but chinook fevered Continue reading
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deeper the casket lies
deeper the casket lies under earth like an egyptian horde under watermoses comestretch your staff over the gravegrave openlike a road between cliffscasket in the middle of the road openwide as a yawn exposethe skull the wrinkleddust on an aged face that peelsfalls away exposesa ball of boneholes in the skull where wereopa’s ears where Continue reading
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all around us moonbeams spark
all around us moonbeams sparkoff cannons wheeled round the battlementslate window light by late window light behind us goes out the castle keep darkens up and goes slowly to sleepand now light unscriptedheaven’s light the light of helllight from the world that was and from the world that is to come light light in the Continue reading
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windblown snowflakes swirl
windblown snowflakes swirlflake by flake beyond the glassthe sky is falling Continue reading
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further downriver
further downriverbefore the old man mates with the bow and passes its genetics and its defectsas an inheritanceinto its south saskatchewan* offspringto either side in winterstubble on the faces of sleeping fields whose crops were last shaved in october protrude through thin sheets of snow or lie snuggled under heavy blanketslike an addict in a Continue reading
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the mountain doesn’t speak
the mountain doesn’t speakit isn’t honestit doesn’t lie Continue reading
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in his voice i hear
in his voice i hearneither amazement nor fear as he glances again at that soul that ignites into the image of his previous kingit’s the same light he saw the night beforethere’s no funeral attendancein his attitude as he watches the specter move across the battlements like a torch that lights the bedchamber of the Continue reading
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images of the poems i wanted
images of the poems i wantedto come calico or sleekand black furred and reflecting lightwith white from the snout downthe chest under the belly and whitethe paws of a poem i’d title sylvesteri’ve seen the thought in the headlightsto open my notebook like a door and admitone of those if ever i saw one stalkin Continue reading
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i could have chosen to go
i could have chosen to goout to the hour in which the music stoppedwhere with only the instruments the stage was ignoredthe hour undimmed where with light the bulbshung from the ceiling and the bulbs backedto the walls were filledi never chose to goout to the hour in which see throughmugs and glasses and bottles Continue reading
About Me
I have a day.
Jake's Flea Market 