Tuesday, October 28, 2008


you and me kid
right back where we belong
between the wars

with oblong heads
and geometric bodies
filled to the brim with primary colors 
and political agendas

tired lonely pissed

and that sculpture looks like wood
from far away
but if left outside 
wood would rot

so we both know its not. 


I heard a wild crash two blocks to my right.
They had knocked a piece of the sky loose
during construction.
It was blue and serene
except for the one shard dangling
over the clock tower. 
It is the oldest building around here;
The only one with a clock.
I guess I was the only person to hear.
Or just the only one to stop. 

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Word Riot

Keep an eye on the poetry section of  www.wordriot.org
"Quandaries" and "Underground" will be showing up in one of their future publications.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Moustache and a Trumpet

I listen to the universe
and suddenly I am a
history in rust
thrown back to
long wintry
through Ontario
buying donuts
at our last chance to use
US currency
forgetting gas is
measured in liters
up here
where the air is thinner
and my heart beats quicker
just remembering you
and I

Monday, October 13, 2008

Learning Commons

the uppers and the downers got
in a fight inside my head
thought someone was breaking in the house
and the imagined creaks and
bangs of robbery
interrupted the self-induced
orgasm I was
I should really lock the door.
Popping pills to stay awake
long enough to work out
all the work
Smoking bowls to fall asleep
long enough to wake up
and work
Self-destructing for success
earning degrees
measuring degrees
of sanity
walking cold bricks home
thoughts racing
waking thin lines between
taking meth head as a compliment
thinking and writing
"the time is now 11:30 and the library will be closing in 30 minutes
if you wish to remain please move to the learning commons on the second floor"


in some fundamental way
this cello captures
everything that is sad
and beautiful in the world

the hard rain of gray days
the solemnity of funerals
the joy of weddings
the complexity of solitude

with every reverberation of the strings
i remember dark days of
childhood and wonderful ones as well
and i feel peaceful
but inadequate.