this is a poemit’s a litwindow in the nightnot even mom drivesout of town into the country to look in through it if she did she’d see something of mei’d tell her it’s also a door something of me comes out throughshe’d remind me i tried that once before tried to push something i thought Continue reading

as this timebetween eternity and eternity iseternity flesh stretchedacross an old man’sface in the forever before his funeralis flesh destined to becomesoil is soil are fieldsfallow that fold into and wrinkleout of the lack of vegetation in crevassesand dry creek beds in ravines through whichin july sweat tricklesask yourself if that landscape expressesinsolence watchthat country Continue reading

i’ll tell you the metaphor i’ll tell you the liethis is that there is here then is now i’ll tell you the clothingdress life up put makeup on its facecoathanger a pair of tight levis up its legs cover its asswire a bra add support to firm its sagging formbutton a blouse to accentuate the Continue reading

agricola the saxonas a silhouette against the top of the morningstrolls in a rut furrowed across the foreheadof the country away from glauchauobserves how the land faced toward daylightsod fleshed here and there skinnedwith barley crop wrinklesdown into the lines on the face in whichin april a creek swells ora stream or river flows between Continue reading

i wore itlike the beauty of the womani guided through the room under chandelierswhere the tuxedoed five- piece- bandplayed the dance with their stringswore it for the boywith his pal on the corner i wore itto lead their pointing fingersfrom west to eastwhen i cruised up third avenueand from east to westwhen i cruised back Continue reading

arch the yew wood bow in your voice and pullback the hemp bow string and the nock in the shaft of warning made of words and sharp pointedreleasewound the ambitions of that turnspit dog that malformed intruder who leans on the dining room table in the house where you are guestedwhere queen and princess or Continue reading

As a male in my early sixties, I’m one of the twelve percent of thirty- five- to seventy- nine- year- old Canadians who’ve been diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD). Alberta, the Canadian province that is my home, in the summer is exposed either to heat and smoke or to humidity with impending rain. Continue reading