22 September 2008

storefront poetry: 6–11


their accents sing of other
islands     other steppes     other
river valleys and forests
howling rabbit afternoon song
the growing domesticated and
natural plants and animals
—all know the sun is dying
back these shortening days
lengthening nights and not
even duct tape can stabilize
the spinning wobble of earth
black coffee my crude fuel
rain or shine—elbow patch
tweed only     no thanks—
on the table and countertop
bar or diner—fine food fast
never mind the greased pigeons
huddled under the exhaust vent
all the scent without any food
like watching exercise television
while slumped in chair or up
against the wall—beer in hand
mystic forgets their muse
late-breaking news—s o s—
the reporter longhands notes
flips pages over the spiral

21–22sept 2008


i could sleep and sleep
through the later dawn and
not think about meaningless
school buses or sirens elsewhere
in this small c larger than
the one how far southeast of
here how many road pops away
homer marley and wilde oscar
—if they have found homes
in grande prairie     anyone can
this is not quite the wilder
buttcrack towns deeper in
the patch hungry and growing
growling too fast down the
highway on their way to bacon
and pickle bandages     patchouli
and eyes wide open peasant skirts
and tourism department sunshine
a shower of yellow leaves like
aging and dying are fun
and i feel i'm a tree forever
watching traffic approach
and roll on past like clouds
without enough space to relax
moth at the window glass with
almost the whole world out there



a man wants js and che
jimi janice james dean
jim morrison john lennon (not)
john wayne to cowboy up!
and johnny cash too
che for his fellow greys
tfig sdrac elbaliava ereh
plus marilyn—just because
blue parking police ticketing
the parked too close to hydrant
i’m building the second pillar
or column framing the doors
closed to today’s cooler vent
drum and bass opera pawnbroker
björk on the airway book gulp
nothing like dead stars in hand
or their past lives to share
and celebrate eternally like
colourful birds of imagination
preserved in approximate amber
for doubloons pantaloons and wine
as skeins of geese lift up up up
honking out of reach of quill pen
intentions for some with a jar
of mushroom ink for a slow draw
of letter-by-letter words poetic
stroked across paper receptive

22sept 2008


desire the motivation for some
a dish aimed into the vast
out there so beyond missable
but where are the worms     the
other planets with communicable
life and the endless challenge
of recreation—ready or not—
and how to pass the afternoon
the apple rum and fingers evening
the night whooping itself hoarse
coarse to hide sensitive shrieking
and the shock of being alive
and stressed before all time
in a nebula of relative proximity
with rings of the disintegrated
or not fully firmed—either
or both not stable or sustainable—
it wasn’t like that     some say
as adult world so nearby but
condoning or seemingly unaware
how could they not feel the chaos
the game not lust not love but dare
and the young players playing
as if reputation is the only risk
not body–mind and possible futures
beyond the small orbit of now



incense and scented candles burn
side by each and twirl around
each other too sweet and sticky
candy parking in my no parking
zone like throated brazil nuts
i can’t escape by not breathing
and i can’t shatter like the pane
of broken smoke next door in the
canton restaurant’s walled wind
4x4 big country overdrive job
this poetry for rent not hire
copies might become available
for slippery purchase of its dark
flavour—a relish consumable
ink under the skin stretched
or signature facepaint around eyes
for wednesday’s alice or f’ton
friday midnight’s rocky horror
—oh     what a choice so soon
after autumn equinox’s respect
and thanks for everything living
that has given or been taken with
thanks prayer and offering—
like the red wine in my cup
at the end of another poem page



a man walked in the door—
beige and brown sweater and pants
a cooked salmon-colour dressed woman
with bird-confusing big eye sunglasses
a black convertible beetle passes . . .
better than a burning van with
a body nearby—accident or . . .
not yet decided—or the man chased
who died not in the crash but before
spike belt flattened sierra tires
a long-barrel firearm companion
to the emotionally distressed deceased
as local gun owners continue to rebel:
shed fire and fence fire unrelated flares
in these pre-election bored nights where
poetry and mediation     school days and
consensual free-range style not so
acted ultimate fight club occupy
many much of the time but not enough
to obliterate or obscure wonder that
there might be something else out
there worth wanting beyond sleep
or another grocery store visitation
and seeming funky world beers
coffee beans ground before dawn
and a gato phat poking at my head


T: Silver Wave Film Fest 2007
loc: Grande Prairie
temp: 10 C
sound: chopping & stir-fry in the kitchen