lamentation for the seasons
its a blast of arctic air;
the meat locker-frigid wind
chaps my lips and leaves traces
of frost amid the cracks,
oh, all the cracks and lesions,
in my reason and shivering, shattered soul.
where did the warmth of summer go?
seasons have come and gone but still
I am left here with this husk
of winter at my feet. This carcass,
made of glass and concrete
waiting to be buried under December sky
and pale, indifferent sunlight.
and I’ll lay down your bones old man,
and I’ll put your frozen remains to rest.
I’ll light you a stick of incense and pray
that the flowers of spring
from your burial mound at last.
I can safely say that you’re my favourite shade of green,
a subtle jade in the shadow of a sleeping mountain.
there’s a warmth in the deepest part of winter,
a slight whisper that reminds me of home.
and I am weak, oh so weak,
but you hold me up till I can stand on my own again.
Early Mornings in Overcast Seasons
A murder of crows flock overhead
like ashes spread over the surface
of a blue-grey ocean.
And I’m drowning in the deep,
there’s no air beneath this heavy sky.
I caress my funeral anchor until
the sun rises in the east again.
I’ll put on my best suit and walk into the ocean.
Adjust my tie as the water eats up my ankles.
Check the time when I’m in to my waist.
Fix my hair when my lapels are soaked with brine.
I’m dressed to marry my silent lover,
and have her drink me in till the end of time.
I don’t know what to
do with myself in
two months time
because Calgary seems
a million miles away
from the warmth
of your arms.
be safe in the
ice and snow and
don’t forget that
you keep the frost
from creeping over
the cold edges of
my old metal heart.
the sun shivers with the waking frost
while the ghost of the paling moon sits on the edge of blue sky sheets,
before she leaves.
where has she gone,
where has she gone?
every minute apart feels like a thousand winters impossibly long.
and in the silence of the sleeping night,
he watches her go yet another time.
she’s violently in love with his concept
takes notes of his mind in lipstick
over the entirety of her bedroom mirror
is this insanity
Vector Visions of Asia
The city is a blur and I
can barely make my way home.
Neon lights slur my words like a
mix of ice and foam.
Young Thai girls ask me, baby
do you wanna come inside?
Have a drink, stay a little
Rest your busy mind.
I loosen up my tie a bit and
Sorry its two am and I’ve
got to go in a while.
But misery keeps my company,
in the back of a red taxi cab.
I let the harbour hold me
Till I leave the night behind.
I’ve got this sickness in me
this hunger, and fatigue, and nervosa and shakes.
My breathing is tiresome, and I feel an urge to keep
myself constantly caffeinated.
but I found my breakwater,
a hypo-dermal vector.
giving me sweet relief
into my fire hydrant veins.
my thoughts stay short,
sweet and simple
I fall into pieces on the concrete
of your fatal ecstasy.
Misery, misery, but what is it but our own natures? And if the misery were ultimately to be disentangled (perhaps only women can do such work), you and I would fall apart.
Franz Kafka, 1917
A Sunny Day in Broken Paradise
Tortured souls yearn to dream,
But sleep escapes through failing hands.
Like stubble that marks my cheek,
I travel on as the morning comes.
Concrete silos dot the river-front,
Railway tracks suture shut
the open wounds of the streets of industry.
Green-grey water; the city’s blood.
It’s bright, far too bright,
The sun stabs the sky with a fluorescent knife.
I’ve choked on this chain of armistice,
as I call and call for the warmth of night.
when you are unable to write,
you neither live nor die.
a breath caught between possibilities,
this pen will not give up its ink.
your skin crawls, heart beats with irregularity.
you choke on the words you can’t get out.
it’s pain and frustration,
writhes and twitches in your bones.
and it boils before freezing again,
I’ll die from this suffocation.
Just One Second
Hold your breath for a second,
The sun rises above this prairie river.
Stay still for a second,
As the autumn fire breaks the glass of a silent mirror.
Be calm for a second,
The day and night are born and die in each other’s arms.
Think of me for a second,
Time slips from our fingertips as the morning wakes again.
Where are angel’s wings when I need to fall into your arms?
I’ve never been this defeated since the day I was drowned;
a sea of flames litters the walk to your front door,
But the season of change falls slowly to my feet.
The harvest was long, we broke our backs on sighing earth,
Until we finally faded away with the crumbling leaves.
it’s the season of decay and equilibrium ,
when the vestiges of summer fade into the wind
like edges of the night creeping both in and out
of a champagne brilliance in the cold steel sky.
it’s the season when the noonhour is a mirror,
and we see ourselves in the pools left by the autumn rain.
the sky sheds a storm of maple fire,
and leaves the fringes of wintersong on my lips.