Poem 36

To exist in a state of grace  while
inside contemptuous coals are stoked with every
thought--more gratifying than you'd think.

Not to say that feeding the poor &
housing the lame won't leave your cupboards
empty & rooms overflowing
but that is the essence of such notions.

It's the widest smile bearing most teeth
that make me look away.

Poem 35

There's nothing at my fingertips right now
I blame my brain, no my heart
when really it is neither
It's the day I've had carving into the ground
until these empty fingers ached
from stone & thick clay
clearing a path
shocking each worm
displacing or disecting
a violent act in the name or order.

Poem 34

I come from a city where two rivers flow
they meet in the centre
one going one direction
the other, another
and like two rivers with their
own agendas
their meeting is brief   and
they're gone   like any two
rivers in a hurry to get where
they are needed.

In that city
people sleepwalk
they freeze in the winter
then complain about summer's heat.
Not that they are not content
but very involved in the weather.
I know about those who sleepwalk because it's haunted
son Guy Maddin has
captured this fuzzy phenomenon.
When the sleeper arrives at your door
you must let them in.
They may have lived in that house before
or they may know you.
They may have the keys with them
but in sleep they will fumble and
it is the civic duty of those who answer
their doors not to behave like a cold
rushing river.

Poem 33

Loquacious is the mosquito in your bedroom
the buzz in your head when you don't know the answer
it's the effect of too much day & not enough night
It's the word you want if you are at the bottom of a well
It's the word you know you can count on
Maybe no one uses it anymore but it's like the best colloquial
oh, I meant collegial
it's the best collegial accompaniment you can find.

Poem 32

Lugubrious is a slug who is happy in the slimy water forgotten since last spring
it is sure to make itself known, to catch your eye to show that it's there
alone and unfed.  It will surface then sink to the bottom as if that were it.
But it returns to see your concern to listen to your plans of rescue
Take my advice, leave that word alone and all that it holds dear
It has a way of moving in and never leaving   of wrapping itself
around your good intentions and squeezing and squeezing.

Poem 31

The inconvenience of language
an oil slick
a bed of wet clay
That's not what I wanted to say.
Today the sky was blue
except that may not be true
I did not look up
was busy digging a hole
but the heat on my back &
the blackness of the hole
all add up to clear skies above.
I could smell the damp
with each cut
slicing  roots
listening to songbirds almost
understanding them.

Poem 30

You’re no cliche

if you smoke foreign cigarettes

or roll your own

Read Heinrich Boll or Roberto Bolano

ride bicycles even in the rain

wear boots in summer

prefer black  or  army surplus

If you still believe in social evolution

with no evidence to go on

No cliche cuts deep enough for you

when your social circle can be

counted on one hand

the one in your pocket &

your dog’s name is a literary reference--

If you live outside society

above shops hanging on for dear life.

You don’t think about money

you think about art

Heart to hand

Hand to mouth

Before your eyes

the work you do

the cheques you cash

your straight spine & the

curved line that winds around your life.

Poem 29

The sun is midway in the sky     

the lake has not yet melted 

but is beginning along its edges    

A woman stands silhouetted

by the glare off the shiny ice  

Any brighter and you could see her bones.

She’s holding a stick  &  pokes at the shell 

of this sleeping white tortoise

It refuses to yield   remains asleep    

There are droplets melting from her

eyes  let loose by winter’s end   

a fire within puffs smoke from her mouth.

As if in sympathy  a piece of this glacial beast crumbles 

as she is pulled by impulse    left foot    right foot   

origin of the species

leaves the lake’s shore  

upright  forward   then gone.

Poem 28

Watching the man pose before his friend for a shot
He is no doubt thinking of his girl  or another
who will see this photo  of
a dashing young man  posed with
one leg up   elbow on knee
teeth white & generous
granite building behind
His dark skin against bright shirt
windblown on a Saturday afternoon
or that kind of mood.
Are they tourists or exchange students
from somewhere hot & well populated?
What will she make of this snapshot-- a building
seemingly unoccupied  on a deserted street on a Saturday
or that kind of mood.

Poem 27

Is what is left  always

later desired

Do our memories

cloak the naked bones of our past

into presentability      properly attired

any ghost can make his way through a room 

full of friends   avoiding handshakes & solid food

he can fit right in

make you believe the past 

was another country

your memory

the unstamped visa

Poem 26

To satisfy & nourish
that is what we all seek
Your caress a visit
like a bird balanced
in plummage & song
To notice & enjoy
takes you half way there.

We suspend time in this city
it's an island after all
Nothing to do but be
Nowhere to go but here
After dinner on St. Denis
we walk south & the moon
awaits suspended over
Massioneuve above a Cathedral.

To satisfy & nourish
to not tip the balance
What luck to have found you
what luck to have known
You fill me
yet leave space
Fire Horse
your white light shines always
you gallop in the right direction home.

Poem 25

I make my way down St.Denis with sights on Place des Arts
it is a test of conviction passing through the temptation of colour
scent and culinary favors
I avoid the yellow & green of Renaud Bray
The ground beans  and sidewalk tables of le Brulerie
cannot pull me in to tiny spoons & saucers
Nor can the yeasty warmth of patisseries with condensation
on the windows containing golden loaves and rolls
I remain focussed on this journey south
pass by bicycle after bicyle chained to posts
beside patient dogs tethered to trees
I hand out no change
look for no friends.
There is one hour left on this Saturday
to see the lines of Leonard Cohen
the wordless ones--
sketches of his own face & all that he has
gained & lost.

Poem 24

They say the only way to get to know a city
is to walk it     Likewise   bonding with a dog
to create pack hierarchy   only achieved by walking
Meditation -- best done along winding paths
or sidewalks  through alleys
Walking alone -- get to know yourself
Walking companions -- reveals the redundancy of words
There are walking clubs, magazines, shoes, outfits, instructors
There were our parents  or some adult
cheering us initially as we tumbled forward in life
Toward    Away from   Along side
then back again
In hospitals there are those learning it all over &
those who never will again--
Passing a lady with the walker
She still does   just slower
Then the man with a cane
looks like he always has.

Poem 23

Sipping green tea because it is delicious
and good for me, while at the same time
Shiraz Merlot blend  equally delicious
and good for me, if not better.
The tea from Japan
The wine from Argentina
Me in Montreal
from several places
that always seem to lead me  to here.

Poem 22

We walk past a building with a huge button above its doorway
it is gold & looks like it was sewn on.
Inside there are cases & drawers full
Antique or modern
brass, plastic, wood and gold.
I am sure there's more but its 2 in the morning
and we're only passing in the dark
past the drunken happy this week night
angling past us toward crooked sidewalks.
I watch the immigrants seeding the bagels at Fairmont,
then on Gilford the Bar avec Billiards Gratuit where a couple of laggards are sitting there still
while the bartender blonde like the beer they sell there is in the doorway turning the bolt
she pulls the chain on the neon Open sign & notices us not.

Poem 21

I've got these rats living inside my mind   see
(I added that 'see' because one of them
likes to think he's james cagney & no good
at anything but knowing it all.)
Although I may look normal while at the bank
or in your home  part of me is checking out the vault
or sizing up your locks.
Part of me opens your fridge when you leave the room
then listens in on your phone call
Part of me is always checking over her shoulder
watching where she steps
sniffing the air
saving some food for later.

I cannot say when this began
because that part of my mind is now considered
off-access.
So while you are talking to me I am undressing you
and later pushing you into the sofa for a real going over
smiling & nodding & filling in a few blanks
You like it rough don't you?
Speaking this aloud I have to apologize
but you grant me this mistep saying  NO
you are right, I let people walk all over me
Those rats I think    Maybe they do know more than us.

Poem 20

Equinox
Spring

But you are so thick in the fall &
the shake.
You are clad in the heavy
heat of sadness
You are stuck in a place
with no view but one.

Let these words enter
to open that shade
that drape
that tightly closed blind.

If poetry was ever
Anything
Then feel it rising
Feel it breathing
feel its hope at least
At least its small hand
its unfocused eyes.

Poem 19

I set forth on this journey
to write every day
But wish I had instead thought  to
Right every day.

Where to begin that?
There is no page to scroll
down deep enough
No journal with pages to hold
all that wet ink.

Poem 18

I have been in & out for the last four days
carrying the same can of paint.
It first came home with visions of spanish fields of sunflowers
but went back the next day
like a bowl of cold soup.

Renewed by some saffron & a small pinch of curry
 -- and like
most of these trips in thick cloak of dark
 -- crack lab liason no doubt
but I'm not going to sweat appearance
With this new concoction so sour
it was back to the car the next hour.

My third trip home with a fresh can of lemons
mouth waters with every step --
I've achieved it at last
a balance of hues
a pigment so brilliantly cast.