if it stood in your power
to cause clocks to regress.
A small bowl full of big fish begets a stunted pond.
Your malaise and theirs
-are miles apart.
That's not the worst of it: Nothing ever happens.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
//Faith in the Anvil//
Words flounder in decay -how I wish they'd never flown.
The returning smile of a jackal explodes.
I quietly count my time, even though I know it isn't really there, until they name the hour, and I politely carry on.
These hours, marked by cigarette ash sometimes seem more needed than my mind -and in the best case, I make a discovery in a spare moment or a heavy trance, that's outstripped my time.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Friday, November 7, 2014
//Start to a noir//This came out of the Recession-era a few years back when it felt like I was in total opposition to everything around me. Since then I've adapted: I shave strategically and less often.
One warm and rainy day in spring
I stand at the bathroom mirror, shaving.
The cat's meow is like an old screen door.
I feel like a dented can of soup,
because I never knew that my youth,
so far could reach.
Headlights, pass over the window
and seem to incinerate the room.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
//Figuration Nº. 8//“You’re getting older. You’re going to have to live with yourself soon.”, I say, as the lunch hour litter of newspapers, crumbs, and soft-pack cellophane ebbs its way between bathroom stalls, into the parking lot, under lockers -only sometimes lapping at the lip of the trash can. His quick-lipped close-snipped speech for once fails him. He's puckered tight as a dog's asshole.
The chaw-stained smile of a hard-hatted scarecrow
turned corporate confidence man
calls to mind shades of a chequered past.
He cuts his Cope with coffee grounds,
farts and smiles
like the Devil,
and bears his old denim jacket the same way.
His dog-shys away from him still.