Saturday, June 30, 2007



spin in dent
of dime
to pink
loose in throat
as blue
as meat


the lump
was dumped
in the trump
et and several kids
found it
took it home
framed it
hung it
loved it


bubbles form
beneath my nails
as I hammer them
into the horse



the climb up and out
eery Earth
he wakes up
chest pain again
against the grain
he goes grows glows
meaning is spread out
the fashion tubes
are all lined up
sex speeds off the road
dangling pieces
of human flesh
zero in on midnight
as some stale bread
attempts to be eaten
but it’s too hard and dry
escalation of birds
to sink the clay
into the mind
as it brings out
the soft display
of an eager tiger
waiting patiently
to pounce
if it wasn’t for the nitro
it’d be 911
all over again


if it was not for
all these animals
I have no idea
where I would be
and yet I know
there are no animals here
all that exists here
is a single beating heart
and a bit of an imagination
so I slice meaning
as menacingly as I can
as dew spews itself everywhere
then I gather myself up
and go to the door
there is a man in the hallway
who says he has my groceries
I say hello and hand him my bank card
after a bit of confusion
my card does its magic
$107.17 leaves my account
and goes into their account
and I’ve got food for another week
meanwhile the tiger
that keeps insisting it’s here with me
yawns a very big yawn
as if to warn me
that another day of dreadful sunlight
is upon me
upon us?
I am like the tiger
function much better at night
in fact barely function at all
during the day
but I’ll try
which I know is a crazy thing to do
and I’ll be as patient
as a tiger
and I’ll wait
there’ll be a time
around 9:00 tonight
when everything will change
my mood will improve hugely
and my body will get grounded
and then I will start to work
for real


is the daughter
of the moon
which is a rock
that I become
when I sit
on my throne
sending limbs
to the world
as a curve of mind
shadows the distance
from Point A to Point X
and the tree
that’s growing
up through a crack
between two bricks
in the patio floor
begins to sing
since when do trees sing?
trees sing since bends in the road
were made of roast beef
and molasses
and since the shadows of hope
were positioned strategically
in a dump
on the other side of now


there is an opening
in my sketch pad
for the frogs
that are pouring
from her mouth
as she babbles
on and on and on
while we wait
in the waiting room
for her to see
the campus shrink
to talk about her being pregnant
and not knowing what to do about it
she wants to get married
and live on campus
as a married couple
with a kid
but she knows
I have no interest in that

on the day of her abortion
we march for peace
up University Avenue
which is what my father did
back in 1961
while I was being born


for some reason
my stomach
is on fire
I slept a long time
much longer than usual
when I woke up I was nervous
probably as residue
from one of my nightmares
the stress was causing
pains in my chest
I had to sit down
and get centred and grounded
light a cigarette
get some coffee into me
check for e-mail
2 pieces
one from
and one from
cool enough
the birds
the birds
the birds
a town is this suburbia
of mind where it’s quieter
than any other place I’ve lived
and quiet
even the total silence
of a vacuum
is what I’ve always
really needed
and wanted
and sometimes here
it is almost that quiet
and then
believe it or not
if you were here
you’d see
that I can smile


List it now did it noun to crush salad crash Moon stint on sitting mule purse to snatch an eel off the shelf. Rain pours down. There’s nothing wrong with being depressed? That’s a thought not had yet? What if that’s true? What if you ponder that idea for awhile. The usual assumption and judgement is that depression is a negative, bad, thing. What if it’s a blessing in disguise like so many supposedly negative things in this life?
Depression as a gift? As a blessing in disguise? As something a person so afflicted can work with and/or make work for him?
What does depression say, if not “go to bed.”
What does “go to bed” mean? It means: drop out. It means the so-called world is not for you. It means create a space for yourself where you can go to get away from the so-called world which has become an intollerable place. It means: think of your bed as your main studio.
To be depressed means to be selected. It means being one of the chosen. It does not afflict everyone. Everyone gets a little taste of it now and then but a relative few get it to the extent that it qualifies as a major debilitating dis/ease. Someone once said it’s worse than cancer and she’d experienced both. A good way to make it worse is to fight it. You will never win against your depression. It will always win. It will smash you down and make it impossible for you to do anything. But there might be a way to make it work for you. The power of positive thinking? Why not? Surely it can’t hurt to try.
You can let depression’s apparent total negativity overwhelm you and in this way you will even increase the feeling that it is totally negative with absolutely nothing going for it.
What if depression is a teacher? What if depression is trying to teach you something not just about yourself but about other people and the so-called world and even the universe and beyond if there is a beyond and you know there is a beyond because there has to be a beyond. The universe itself is a beyond. But the universe itself is somewhere and that somewhere is somewhere. And so on and so forth. Tolerate the uncertainty of tolerating the uncertainty of tolerating the uncertainty... forever. What if the universe itself is depressed and you’re just tapping into some basic cosmic condition?



I woke up
looked around me
was surrounded by 4 walls
above was a ceiling
beneath was a floor
on the walls were paintings
that I did
the ceiling was white
on the other side of it
clod hopping on their floor
were 2 very loud lesbians
my floor was made of wood
my room was on the ground floor
because high-rise living
causes psychosis
a French study proves it
there’s a condo being built downtown
that’s going to be 72 stories tall
that’s crazy
that’s without a doubt crazy
who in their right mind
(they’re obviously not in their right mind)
would want to live 72 stories high
up in the sky?
such folk are already psychotic
I could see them leaping to their deaths
on my floor
beside my guitar in its closed case
was a pile of books
that I kept tripping on
there’s a bookshelf with more books
and another bookshelf with books
on top of it
beside the 2 bookshelves was a desk
with a fancy new computer on it
there was also a TV
I was still on the bed
was still waking up
still waking up to this dream
this dream they keep telling me
to call “life”


I faked the caith
as I wandered
in and out
of oats
held hard
against their wishes
deep below
the parliament buildings
in Ottawa
where I tried
off and on
to eat my mind
as I pushed myself
past failure
getting one more sentence
it was like coughing up phlegm
at a 3-year-old’s birthday party
where there was no one
no one no one no one
to meet my every need


how embarrassing!
but he had no choice
the elevator got stuck
between floors
and they couldn’t
get it
for hours
he had to go
he had to really go
more and more and more
both #1 and #2
and finally
he felt he had no choice
he couldn’t hold in
any longer


corn cob ideation
plummeting up
plummeting down
creating wisdom
from endless sex
to endless celibacy
he corrected the wind
he twisted his mind
he ate his face
mindless moonbeams
scattered tiny blue feathers
and a seance
made of cold beans
rotated on a pencil
as mistaken identities
pulled misery
from clumps of sugar
deep in the southern regions
of Canada
which was getting
its hair cut
by a barber
who figured
every country
likes to talk
about sports


he waited down below
in his old Underwood FIVE
the same make
as the one featured
in the movie
Finding Forrester
where it’s still bang bang bang
and not as it is now for most writers
tap tap tap
it used to be that
all his neighbours knew
what he was doing
because they could hear him
now he’s certain
they haven’t got a clue
as to what he’s doing
especially because it’s so quiet
there’s no way
they can hear the tap tap tap
of his computer
and even though the computer is
a far superiour writing machine
aka machine gun with a silencer
that goes tap tap tap
he still from time to time
longs for those glory days
when the machine gun
had no silencer
and the neighbours
had no doubt about what he was doing
all alone in his room
going bang bang bang