people at the bus stop top
their esteem with instinctive ticks
like small shrugs
each stare a unique direction
in different colours
a collective vision
of day-to-day necessity.

oh
crimea river

i ride a bicycle to work over and
on the sidewalk of a bridge
because if i ride on the road i have
to swerve to avoid shards of glass.
the police set up roadblocks on the opposite
end forcing dozens of liquor bottles out car windows.
i have had 3 flat tires there in the last 2 months.

i'm the weird guy with the good sense of humour yet
a bit too reclusive to trust his intent
i don't want to see my reflection in that stance again
no never want to see blood spilt anywhere again
Tropic of Cancer
and a glassy sideways glance
slip of the fingers
his hand's on your lap.

* * *

twas my boifday on sunday.

if i could do it all over again,
i might have to think about it first,
but i would do it all over again.

i have a renewed appreciation for the sky,
without one i think i would fall
and to my knees i would have to crawl
dizzy and all of the time
unable to get up
no different than any other reptile
or muti-purpose geek
with a big nose
dorsal-finned posture and elegiac smile
like that old, bald beast in the hobbit story,
slime my way past the other suits,
in the city there is no sky,
perhaps thats why these unhappy business
tied types all resemble grave, miserable flies
sitting in fattened archways
choking as they shake.

wrinkles aging ears
pretending it's beauty
lying in wisdom

* * *

time destroys everything.
that's from Irréversible.

in in ten or ten-and-a-half hours
it will be one full week to the day
of one of the most dreadful days
of my life so far.

and one day at a time i pray.
i think its all i can really do.
she knows we love her.

i really don't feel
like going back to work.
that is an understatement.
i digress.