Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Jaguar Oscillations




Jaguar Oscillations. YMCA Parking Garage, 
27 February 2015, 3:50 PM.

Just hours ago a jaguar
stalking a fresh insight through emerald
                                    beaded grass,

I’m stuck now behind another stupidly
                                    big car,
tense all over, about to start cursing,

as the Expedition or Armada or Sequoia
                                    or whatever
twelve-points out of a normal-sized spot.

Liberating wisdom’s no more durable
than these farts of exhaust that envelop
                                    my windshield

and dissipate. Perpetual oscillation.
What else could days possibly be?      

               

Friday, April 10, 2015

Bliss




Bliss

Some things I’ve talked about with my students
this past week:

When and why and how to sit
still.
Reasons to wash your hands
after using the toilet.
The Great Oxidation Event.
Since anaerobic bacteria like awful places and
excrete oxygen why we don’t send spaceships of
them to Mars and other planets to build atmospheres
for us.
What chickens see when they look at us.
Waiting for Godot. Why nothing keeps happening.
If nerve impulses are electro-chemical why
not construct nerve-pack generators.
What it means to say People should be treated
as ends not means.
Making a Rainbow Loom bookmark.
How not to fear death without believing in God
or an afterlife.
Why manga characters, baby animals and super-
models have big eyes.
Jane Eyre’s I must begin a new
existence amongst strange faces and strange scenes.
The meaning of disdain. Gastroenterologist. Psyche.
Factors affecting radicalization in British prisons.
Narrative criticisms of Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland.
The need to keep clean so someone will love you.
Hew versus hue.
Being less original than your sister.

Come home to an email:
Wouldn’t it be bliss
to shove the dayjob
and just focus totally on writing?!!





Sunday, April 5, 2015

al-Aged




al-Aged


There’s a stretch on Bathurst
where almost every day at least one
stoplight’s knocked out,
a cop on point duty,
traffic cones around the city
works truck funnelling us
jerkily and grumpily
into a single lane.

It’s old people. Old
drivers. You see them standing
beside their big, slightly dented cars,
sprigs of egret white hair
awry under questioning.

They feel heart spasms,
heart attacks, lose control
or coordination, have
Alzheimer’s or just normal
drifting minds. They’re too
short, usually, for the solid old sedans
they prefer, reducing visibility.

I do my share of cursing
and gesticulating, mostly
at the other assholes merging,
but somehow, even when I’m
stuck a long time,
it cheers me to see this
mild natural terrorism,

the mostly powerless and ignored
casually punching holes in the grid.



Tuesday, March 31, 2015

One More Paper Heart




One More Paper Heart     


Dream-long day beside this window
waiting for you. No clock
in my head or anywhere.
Old cream-yellow radiator
from the forties puffing warmth
gallantly, a Lancelot in those ribs.  
Beyond smudged glass, the L-
shaped neighbour block, bricks
& windows, taped ACs—  
snow skirls in vortices, dot
matrix static, gone abruptly—

(nowhere other waiting, calling)                 

calmly letting in the world,
I learn your green-gold eyes.



Sunday, March 29, 2015

Beggar's Dream




Beggar’s Dream


Disc so pale and flat in gray winter          
sky—sun gone moon

in peaceful haze
of day-night-day, floating

shyly to view receding
behind drifting flakes—

a beggar’s dream
in wan tumbling light,

scuffed dime now glimpsed
now gone—glad

fleeting ghost 
of unearned, unhoped-for keeping. 





Thursday, March 26, 2015

Eyes Blue (Approaching the Lunar New Year)




Eyes Blue (Approaching the Lunar New Year)


Kids tugging at my clothes, small dirty
fingers busy far below my sightline. Where             

did you go? Why did you stay away so long? Remembering
you’re childless means nothing to this plucking.  



Monday, March 23, 2015

Eating an Orange in Agincourt Mall



Eating an Orange in Agincourt Mall


Segment by segment. Carefully.
That’s life these days.
(Or always was? Clear            
seed misplaced in banquet blurs.)

Rotate in the hands with
gentle pressure. Pick a spot
with give to poke teeth into.
Unzip with thumb and two
pronged fingers, trying for a continuous
curl, forgiving yourself the snaps
and pick-aways. Plug with
pith tail levered free, and
clinging web of membrane
detached in branching strands.

Now. Colour’s fragrance is this
taste reclaimed from rushing roads 
and greasy hours. Spurts of             
sweet sweet juice as flesh gives

way, dissolves, becomes a part of
you.