a logical process toward an illogical event
the winter begins on portage, nowhere ner
the great lakes.
not official till it hits the axis - toronto,
vancouver, tho it never does. not yet.
they phoned the veterinarian, abt
the calfs head, or something. he was
otherwise occupied near warren,
an hours drive.
i wanted to tell you what had happened.
snow pellets lean the window right to left,
not down. a manga wind
pushing said poem backwards, already
my left eye reading concluding remarks.
two guys walk into a bar.
no joke, it happens
all the men here look like patrick friesen,
or george amabile. if you dont know what i mean,
'go wild for blueberries', the sign yells out.
but i wont, or dont. the blue wind blew,
yellow on the baseboards.
every action is a warning to pet owners.
every moment. once more,
the leaves fall from the trees.
today a letter drop in my mailbox
i might never see. the pointed tongue
seeking out those missing teeth,
those phantom bones.
on life & writing, always more to be said. the grocer
on produce. perhaps he should
: the theory of lettuce.
im looking forward to stealing your novel, i told her,
from that large bookstorage chain
i cant mention for copyright reasons.
or reasons of security, more like. mine.
dont worry, she still gets the royalty.
even happy laughter fits
into a spirit of wrongdoing. guilt free.
the leaves fall from the leafy trees. leave.
the stories relate to their own fiction.
relay, like a switch. ten thousand volts.
i left to find a second-hand hat. instead,
i bought a book. wont keep my head warm,
the inside. leaves, wind, trees. rewrite
your own conclusions, the abacus
of longing, it all
turns itself on. the self-sustaining,
like solar powered lamps i invented
in my head, at thirteen. they said,
itll never fly. no shit.
i wanted to tell you, what.
the words "this poem is about"
should never be used.
i broke my leg in three places - burlington,
arkansas & mars. or maybe just
my nerve. broke, lost.
the country of the open, leave
your bags please by the cash: dont
this poem stands at notre dame
& king, in ample measures
& mismatched shoes. at least
im warm inside. the sweater found
in a montreal club,
& washed in toronto. here i
go again, the start.
the countdown capable at every corner,
winnipeg, manitoba, october 2000
previously unpublished poem from "ruins (a book of absences", a