moon pulls a ribbon
of humble, distrustful clouds
makes black a warning

the bullrush-sliced air
blows past leaves refreshingly
disobey the sun

seers of coldness drop
loosened grip of frozen clouds
crystals of the sky

icing sugar dusts the streets
the city streets with kindness
melting the concerns

holy shit
letterman's sick
weird i was just reading an
old paperback biography
thanks sis
and he was talking about johnny's
days off and guest hosts
and i was thinking if
he'd be doing that soon
and that'd he'd retire someday
and how worrisome it was
when he fell ill
that new year

i tried to write something
last night
but the giant wouldn't let me
you see
everyone once in a while i like
to post a small poem
a unit of time
i was trying to raise my consciousness
the other day
breathing in ocean air
when a little fly flew in my nose
in public
i remember this happened to me once
hiking with my grandfather
he turned around and saw me
abash, which still stings a bit
picking my nose
and didn't believe my gestures
that it was a fly
we didn't speak the same language.

from now on i will
keep aware of the fire exits
at the next band i go see.

finally watched Stop Making Sense on DVD before
sending it to a cousin. great movie. great sounding too.

i have always had a crush on Tina Weymouth.
i have always had a thing for musicians.
i didn't know she sang.
actually i think she sings like Mary Timony.
always had a thing for her too.
had the pleasure to see her perform in the
old Zulu store once.

think of the sea-life
lying in the dark right now

i have decided to live a little
on the edge
vicariously
not like a vicar
when crossing one-way streets
i will only glance one-way
i will no longer look opposite
the pertinent direction

on some final day
when and if all remaining humanity slides
up this tunnel of light we keep hearing of
whatever that may be,
will there be something to replace us?
if god is within
will it be sliding up with us?
or will god be sliding unto itself?
and from where we slide from
be desolate and harsh?
uninhabitable.
ruined.
not by humans but by nature itself.
mind, if we cease to exist,
really, we have never existed.
except to whatever it may be that replaces us.

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

thoughts and noses
and noses and bulbous ones
and thoughts and an
empty, empty head.

matthew broderick

catchphrase in a bottle
and send it out to sea
what may happen
be what be
sail it unto me..

lalala

someone's melted chickenlegs all down my host.

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.