Nuclear Waiting Medicine Area

Just let me look long down exit hall
                  unstirred.
                  flanked in red stripes.
                  walls calling calling.

I fall down the trap door
                  of my hissing ears
I drink the wavelength
                  of fluorescent mirror,
sharpening red trigram of radiation.

Peel down by bark & bone
                  lapse my body groan
                  fork it open, release the steam
                  unyarn me
                  peel away my shawl of stories
                  shake the etch-a-sketch
                  cart away the bed of gliding crickets.

Stop that flitting rattle wheeling
                  rub the graphite clean.
                 
                  Just let me breathe.

Minto Food Court

Below grade, the under story
           perfumes roasted rye
           slab of sizzling meat
           carbs of Manhattan
           green glo Gunea boys
           down nil one to Alleman
                          (in driving down pour)
           chipotle ketchup
                          slithers long my tongue
                          lapping round tender molars.

That quest of right future
           forgot by mushrooms
            diced in egg
             by New York man's man
              from Africa
               wielding bacon machéte.
           Down under Ottawa
           where plastic forks
           lift another cheerful heap
                            of thigh fodder.

And cubes above us gather somber selves
                            double clicking now 'til noon.

Birds of Sea

Quelling swell
           licks these soft stones
                    dressed in green feathers
                                     white shawls
                    swallowing my head
                                     in enzyme soup
                                     that digested
                                     mind of gossip
                                     amniotic brine
                                     has melted down my spine
                                     leaving patient heap of dust
                                     awaiting Autumn's deluge.

Shuffling sea
Scatters bristles of the
                    hoarse heron    grunt.
Sponges up the spilt song
                    of a Himalayan tune.

Beneath this cloud of pine shade gnats,
                    mind seeks to latch
                    a thread of unfinished business
                    lowering barbed hooks
                    to snare a knot of misery.

                    But, reeling back,
                    the line unwinds
                    leaving gulls
                    to weave a quilt of sky.

Shingle Beach Sunset

Splash sweet soft
            on bed of stranded bladder wort
            sand ground
            from
            bleached oyster skeleton
            foam climb
            green light arc
            then mouthed in
            rolling wet stripes
                       against gold:
                       the parched arbutus,
            beneath side long
                       smile moon.

            While ferry from Vesuvius
                         crab walks
                         past a peach lagoon.

Fisher's metal muscle boat
            grinds grey streak
            on shifting bronze.


I can lean my jaw
            upon her living shoulder
            listen to her voice
            climb up
            through bone.

Splashing

I.

out eye of sky

smiling brows of gull

canoe's punctuation

             upon

             26 flag trellis

shivering timbres

the brilliant entrance

             of elephants

             fully embellished

             with lace, gold,

             sapphires,

             diamonds in their eyes.

the tip toe hippos

             shrieking

             over quick sand

             flaunting gravity.

eroding the evening

             with your icicle charms

                     your lusty bassoons.

             

beneath swoop crow caravan

             making double u's

as we maneuver our

             yellow tusks

             our porpoise thighs

             dipping our tentacles

             past liquid membrane

             below the aluminium

                     candelabra.

And the moon of the clock tower

             rasps

             circlets of haze

             wherefore

             art

             thou?

II.

Two strings of devil
waver below
Grinch's hovercraft
who now vanished,
        now alights,
        green eyes flashing.

Tiny torches blink open
        shimmer corn,
        shimmer green gold,
        shimmer maple,
        on this life vest lake.

Throats of your cannons
        wax.
        Grandfather's chime.
        Kayakers drift past
        blast mouth

        burn sky
like a great golden toasted
        marshmallow.
     

Karmapa Khyen-no

Golden parasol
jewelled brocade
palace of courage
           climbing on trumpet's
           flight, pouring
           brilliant shower up
                         across realms
                         beyond gone
                         gone far beyond.

Your honeyed baritone
           so rich
           so clear
           evaporating last vestige
                        of an inept limit.
           May it echo.
           May it flow
           beyond cease.

Precious guru,
           how can burnish your
           treasure in our heart?

How may we join
           one thousand billion
           hands?

How cherish this bright lamp,
           sheltered in
           crystal vase
           spilling every hue?

Please remain long.
Please return.
Please spread these
           brilliant clouds
           throughout our
           realm of stifled tears.

Galley Cafe

On the Spirit gyre, list
      me innards gently slump
      spine rumble
      on the diesel beat
      while shrouded islet
      slide Salish grey.

Some paint their ribs
      with butter brush
      palette scrape
      cubed potato.

Some sprinkle grains
      crystal death
      swirled amber tea.

One flays a slender
      cucumber, her
      face drawn in
      sobriety mask.

Two gnaw sheaves of
      murdered swine,
      glistening
      rent by restless incisors.

Grand Pré

Spangled grass on crest of dike
       Swimming past my wheel,
Slide betwixt the ruddy marsh
       and prairie meadows green.

As tide recedes, the mud banks crackle
       Lock keys calmly clanking,
Redwing blackbird flashes stripes
       Sings from pole to pole.

As I traverse the verdant path
       Black spotted cow stands watching,
While over on the other side
       White-faced cattle haunching.

Trapped within an algae cove
       Flock of minnows dart,
And just before Mosquito Point
       Crows vantage from pink apple.

Two women stuff the Volvo full
       of desiccated sheaves,
Above red barn on Marsh Crest Farm
       Silos cascade shadows,
And out beyond Evangeline,
       The rusty tide sinks North.

These lands, so rich, were stolen thrice:
       Stolen from the sea and plovers,
Stolen from the Mi'kmaq
       Then stolen from the Acadie.

My Name in Lights

Chase day, bring me more pleasure!
           I may grab bag it
           flailing skin
           sheafs drop, my
           hips thighs crumble
           gnawed by wasp
           twisted wreck of bones
           melting into pregnant dust.

Grab me more I must more
I must swallow the pre-shit
My. Me. Must.
make me star my movie
watch me and my toys and my
stories of my stuff arranged
sit me down on smouldering fire
           burn my sweet hair
           as clouds of offering
chisel my name upon a stone
           chewed smooth by lichens
           and the pelting sands.

Paddy's on Main St.

Angel of the apple blossom
Please sanctify my motive
Blessings of the red mud
            slip me up
please, slip me up.

Abandoned tracks
            you rust, shoulder
            rocking horse.
            May the compass of
            your hands
            enjoy these gifts,
            pull purple thistle.

Locust, sparrow, robin, rice
            song upon broken tree
            bones drop moon down
            and bring her back up,
            despite the pile they wound.
            And creek with
                        worms below clear water

Wash the sky
wash sky.

Cling   longer to this break
            linger on it.
            Any time a
            far gone conclusion.

This beer I liked.
            Now mints announce
            the bill.
         

Troy Cafe

I see but cannot hear
         sky washers
         tossing sun like
         shimmering dice.

No, it is twang of cornet
         leaking loons of clarinet
         manwoman tune
         baby's yelp
         fan's wide wedge:

         these dance across brick walls of red.

Chords of light
         go happening
         phosphorize mind's silver slate
         and, traceless,
         vanish in renewal.

Springtime in Nova Scotia

Soggy bones, bleached grey,
                       resting thin fingers
                       on pale beam of May
                       while lions guild moist
                       red brick lawns

                       (my fog of salted
                        pea nuts gnawing on the noon.)

Rambling round Dartmouth, I've
                       seen bright cords,
                       pink, orange, lemon green
                       knotted to remember,
                       as freely, they wander
                       round tree whose tips
                       reveal flesh of Spring
                       beneath brass cross
                       above the funeral hall.

"Pass a few so swiftly fleeting years

and all that now in bodies live

Shall quit like me the vale of years

Then righteous sentence to receive."

Tombstone of Edward DeWolf

who died March 7th 1836, 

in the 34th year of his age.

                     

Things Undone

40 rooks of cheddar melting
               in an errant soup, best
               not spooned.
Like it were best not
               hitching with Trinity
               cross shattered
               Salt Lake streets
               stripped naked by poker.
Ill advised.

Those oats long since cloistered
               within the polished oaken casket, locked
               within the lost chamber
               the lock of which has frozen
               from crevice corrosion.

Rather, my steps loft, softly
               falling, warm bed of snow
               melting into pit of knee
               soaking denim threads
               tossed by mother many years since.

The moon of frost, draped upon black pines
               still sings to me in tongues
               I can't recall.

April Fools

Stubborn man booked,
                        blew some cash.
     Chasing rainbows round the
     planet. Gone 'gainst all
     words and wishes and
     best intentions of my love.

Seeker sought pure patient path,
     a true footing
     thread between sharp
                         blackberry claws
                                           brown
                         glue mud slick.

Fools of April
     swept in from four winds
     ten directions,
     filling hall full song,
                         supplications on nine hundred lips.

Teacher taught, uncloaked a
     brilliant milk of light
     scattered richly heaped
     galaxies, as so many
                         grains of saffron rice,
                         tumbling petals of the sacred flower.

Now all disbanded,
     flown again to
     fifty homelands of their mother tongues.
     Puzzling how to square
                         the Guru's ask
     against so many
                         sticky fingered
                         circumstances
                         slowly crushing their
                         wind pipe of intent.

So too, I now idly pluck loose
     lashes from my eye.
     As we rocket over Black Aleutia,
                          bound for heavy home.

Loss for Words

Grey Delhi dawn

Soft smog drapes heaven.

Bones of morning
         recline beneath
         white duvet.

Words struggle,
         shy to surface.

Just want to breathe
         the breath
         of golden peace.

10th Floor Voyeur

Dilapidated festival waivers
          on the morning breeze.
          Gone are the magenta floods
          the flags, streamers.
          Yowling echoes of amplified praise
                    linger on my fading
                    ear of mind

The chance was offered, but I
          cowered on floor 10
          crammed my ears full    wax.
          Dared not.

Content in this cocoon, I merely
          watch the orange-eyed pigeons preen
          and scatter from
          brown wheels of kite.

While down on the dirt patch,
          cricket boys have marked
          their boundaries
          in day-glo cones.

Holder of the White Diamond

Calm    slow    clear    deliberate:
          this path of steps.

Clean, pure scent of saffron discipline
          impels carousel coloured cotton:
                      maroon, green, orange, pink
          white pearl syllables, sparkling
                      hues of violet, ruby, turquoise
                      vibrant milk crystal
                      pouring liquid light in all
                                              directions,
                       revolving upon its etched
                                              gear discs
                      buzzing murmur echoes
                      the full throated song,
                      the golden diamond wisdom
                      that eradicates every
                                              vestige of stuck.

Above the Beautiful Forevers

The sky above beautiful forevers
              ebbs quickly again
              toward dusk upon the Black Sea.
So many many impossibly weary
              lives passing like stones
              ground within a blender.

Slums of Kolkata and Rio, so
              remote from my charmed life,
              magnetize ever more wrecked ones
                                seeking only some taste
                                             of refuge.

And my half-mouthed words of refuge
              are not sweet bells
              they are dull plastic thumps
              stumbling from my privileged lips of casual vanity,
              convenient white deceptions.

From edge of the black pane, I
              catch glimpse of Caucuses massing,
              glowing golden white upon
                                milky Black shore.
              Lifting high their icy raiment,
              to slake the coming summer's thirst.

Arctic Story

Flew the dark,
                       now day floods my eyes shut.
some ago,
                       those eyes strained 'gainst ink
of night,
                       as green grey curtains shimmered
                       dull above yellow southern star.

        Crossing Baffin,
                       I sought dim lines of land
                       among the shadow, one lone human light
                       shone within the vastness.
        Greenland glowed grey,
                       softly blurred beyond the
                       arc of earth.

All the while,
                       my ears clung long to
                       stories of resourceful cast-offs
                       striving to survive their slum
                       upon a Mumbai sewage shore.

Canadian Dusk

Dusk glooms over mordor,
          where fires beacon
                             beside sludge ponds.

          Grey frost cakes the dormant prairie
                             pocked with biding ice
                             hundreds scoffed beneath
                             a damp wool sky.

           And a thick band of indigo
                             rusting into heaven,
                             blurs the Southern banks
                             ever slowly yawning to
                             engulf the night.