To be alone with you

So it's post-showtime and that's just what it is. It's over, good night.

Sweaty dancing dancy kids moving their feet cause we were in time cause that's just what it is. Pretty sweet I admit, and I was just as sweaty.

I guess a man with a beard did sweep me off my feet and I can't complain. But men with beards are dreadfully unpredictable so I tooke it with a grain of salt.

It's like you can't even know for sure who your friends are, cause one minute you're calling and crying and laughing and kissing and playing and singing, and then the next, you don't even know where they live. I do now, but all I ask for is a little consistency, you know? And a little faith in me that I can deal with the truth better than nothing.

Yeah 18 looks better in writing. To all the stripclub owners. But what it does mean is that I got some time. Where should I go? Any ideas, just let me know. I got hundreds of years to do anything I want.

Despite my rants I can't complain. A wholesome dinner of K-D and a Vodka-Cran suits me fine. Might get my feet moving like those American Sweethearts of the 40s. Remember those sweethearts?

Does anybody read this?

Ontari-ari-ario

These towns are all the same,

Same ground with different names.

Why do I bus and train

Over and over to the same place?

We think we're bigger than we are

Under the sky so large.

I have to admit,

This isn't the place for me

I'd rather be planting trees

with a forestry degree,

But I didn't take biology,

So I'll have to do it novice-ly.

The sky so large,

We think we're bigger than we are.

The sky so large,

We hold it up with our tiny arms-

Our tiny arms, Atlas strong

won't hold it up for very long.

The breeze, my breath,

ties closer than life to death,

My body on the ground-

Closer than ever to where it was found.

Under the sky so large,

we think we're bigger than we are.

Our beauty, Aphrodite strong,

will carry on in our songs.

Like Fireworks

like fireworks from an airplane you looked down on me and watched me sing. and wondered how to make me love you more than i love the sky. you wonder how to make me love you more than i love the sky. but the sky delivers rain. you want to know how to be the sky? speak to me like sunflowers and snowshoes and freezing nights. speak to me like you give life to everyone who dares to breathe. surround me and i'll surround you and encompass you and inherit you. i'll make you believe that youare alive you are not invisible sky. you are not the moon but you house it like the sky so i can love you. you show me -

i show you i show you i can show you exploding stars.

In a cloud

I'll careen into traffic and no one will see except the shadows that lurk beyond the wall of the mist. The shadows that hide just beyond my vision.

Is it dew or is it tears? Is this mist in my mind?
Perception and reality coincide.
I ride a bike. And I sit my feet up on the bar and let it take me through the cloud
No ones around. No one was ever around
I struggle to understand but I can't understand what I don't see
And whispers whisper to me not to take it seriously
And mulberry trees hide, satisfied
Luminated by the light of fireflies.

Figuratively.

Lying back I see less but feel more.

I see an infinite sky with my eyes open wide

(but that's all.)

I feel a new bride glowing with light but looking old,

I feel a city of insects looking like stars and fires

and monsters and theives and serenaders and lovers,

I feel each blade of grass acquainting itself with another,

And the wind loving them all

And the wind rustling them all

And the wind hushing them all.

Lying back I see less but know more.

I know an infinite sky sees my arms stretched out wide

(but that's all.)

I know my walls are grey and my floors are grey

except for my kitchen-wall covered in rocks and love.

I know I might be lost, I know it's getting late.

I know this clearing isn't mine,

And I shouldn't be in it at all.

But I love it most of all,

Yes, I go here most of all.

Lying back I'm seen less but I am more.

I know an infinite me is all combined

(but that's not all.)

I know my heart is true and my thoughts are pure

I know that no one will find me here that I don't want to.

I know that I could be content here,

Away from it all,

Away from them all,

Away from you all.

bachelor of flipology

Wowww.

It's so humbling and comforting and annoying that I am human. There have been so many humans that basically every human existential circumstance has been experienced and hemmed and hawed on. Everything I feel is old hat, no matter how new it is to me. Lame-o. No wonder we all want to be rebellious and new and exciting.

(Note- we all want to be like this.)

For crap sakes.

Brod

i am tiny but I am large. I talk but I don't say anything but I say too much and then stop talking.
This might be a preview but I don't want to fast forward through it.
Well maybe that's a lie, but I might as well lie if I'm rambling.
And I guess if I'm rambling I might as well amble as well,
amble to the kitchen and maybe have a bagel with processed cheese. Then go up to bed and read some more of my book. All because I'm a liar.

But liars don't lie because they want to. I lied when I said that I lied. I don't want to fast forward through it at all. In fact, I'd love to buy some time. If time is money, why can't money be time?

I'd pay. I'd pay.
One day I'll be a good woman.

Cowrie

Sooo my stomach is letting in butterflies and not letting them out. And I'm like, what? For goodness' sakes.

Etobico Creek

One last thought before I dull the pain of my tired feet by closing it into the dark of shut eyes.

The pain was well worth their pleasure.

How many wheels, at least automatic, could have crushed the tiny splinters of that bridge?

None.

How many horns could have disturbed the peace of that thriving, peaceful community of resident ducks?

No one walks around with a trumpet.

No trailer hitches snag on the flowers, no rubber tire mess litters the river.

And yes it is the city, and yes there is litter,

and yes the squirrels eat from what it delivers,

but they've adapted this way.

The city I can appreciate is filled with life, with bounteous life, and as long as I can travel on my own two feet, I can find it everywhere, I can leave the street.

Blind Faith - Aug. 7.

I will devote my life to the science of beauty, I will appreciate, with awe, the wonders of science, I will relate these wonders and experiences thereof, and, so doing, rest my incoherent soul.

They say NB is lovely this... or any time of year.

Oh, bearded wonder-

ah, me, your long-haired flower.

How you walk from city to city,

never stopping, no, nor resting.

How your house is made of canvas and,

oh, how I follow you,

perched upon your arm like a shirtsleeve

tattoo.

And yes, I'll stretch and fade

as your skin grows thin,

as we pass the years my ink

will seep so deeper in,

oh, bearded wonder,

your long-haired flower

is looking to stake in.

As long as you have starfish and

a pleasantly hairy chin, oh,

I'll follow to the city,
I'll follow to the water,

you can be my son, oh,

and I'll be your daughter.

Aug. 23, '07 - new book.

Another new slate,

another new page,

metaphorically and

rhythmically speaking.

Another stolen word-

a songbird-

and the bricks in my soul are creaking,

set up with mortar to shield

against future theft-

but you stuck a card and made a hole, and

when it dried I breathed and the world was yours.

No use for regret,

I'm not alone yet.

Go on, it's all yours to take,

when I'm gone I'll start

With a clean slate.

The Pansy Sun

So now I flutter my eyelids,
the grace of the sun in my window
polite as to try not to wake me -
misguided, as now I am late.
Good intentions, shy as a sparrow
my pretentious hands will shove them aside!
and cry,
you bastard, you blind
I cut off my eyelids, I tear out my eyes.

But no, so softly I flutter my eyelids,
In grace I'd forgotten,
forgotten my place.
Chopin and Berlioz hum through my lips-
that's a lie,
I know not
either of these.

I hurry my routine
damn light, damn sunlight
and your quiet peeping
that gave me this plight!
and I shove food in my mouth
as my feet quicken pace,
and my eyes dart ahead
and I fight for my place,
and the sun rises, rises,
burning my eyes,
when I want to sleep
to sleep
to lie.

But, so softly I flutter my eyelids
lips tight together in silence,
in smiling and sipping
my warm beverage-drink.
Of bouncing and dancing and thinking, I think.
I bask in the sun and I think, I think.

(Damn me leaving my alarm clock on the bus.
The sunlight is too pansy to wake me up.)

Forest-fire-forest.

forest fire, forest,
forest fire farm,
from dusk to dawn
fire beating on your arms.
oil pressure gone into-
sky pressure into-
your lungs breathing, in and out but weaker, weaker than,
the tiny pieces, tiny breath that then from me you stole,
whispered out between my lips, my last clean crystal soul.


forest fire forest thickening and thicker now,
black clouds of soot resting when my eyes go out.

Streetlight angel dust particles

I shone a light

by sitting pressing yellow flowers.

Yellow through me, light saved me

in the city's pavement eyes,

flower eyes look so pretty

when paired with flower hair

and the flow-er waters flowing

in blue veins, into the air.

I looked into the light

flying at me like angels

at a million miles per hour.

I remember the dance

in the middle of the night

in the street, your city flower.

To be stale, to be full of water,

to be sitting in a cooler for days,

to be pressed like a daisy in a book,

to be giving cars the right of way,

I walk submissively down the sidewalk,

I sleep peacefully in a parking lot.

Eerie mountain.

I go into these woods,
open my windows to the dark-
dark night, not quite
so friendly as I once did know
its brother,
the city.
But the city's never dark as the woods
I'm walking into now.
It's always purple when the light
glows off the clouds, my night
is interrupted by the gas station traffic,
but nurtured by the streetlights and
the windows and
the signs and
the moon.


My windows emit no light but
the blue will hold you and guide you.


In the woods there is nothing
in the night there is nothing.
In the day there are shadows,
in the night there is nothing.
It moves up and down and emits no sound,
which is what scares me.
I keep my ears full of sound and it surrounds me.
I listen so the music in my heart
thump-thumping like animals in
the woods
in
the woods
in
the dark
in
the silent
silent
cave
of trees and moss
the bridge
you balk
we turn
around,

We don't go into the woods at night
or under the bridge-
we just love it from the light of the day,
the kind of love you give
to a mysterious stranger.

What is the moon:

the moon laid down
to setting rest, from
black to black behind a mountain.

glowing nightsun,
(fiery orange glow)-

fifteen minutes til' it did-
pinprick, my eyes blinked-
and it was gone; though left behind
a memory of white-
translucent light-
over the mountain city blue,
so far away
that we couldn't see it in the day.

so i hope to be not like the mooon
nor sky nor sea so always blue
but a happy mixture of the two.

Jordan River Melodies

water.

w a t

e r

wa t e r

hushing -

quieting me

sssh, ssh, shh,

crashing-

inspiring me

ccsh, cssh, cshhh

thunder rolling in from somewhere else

warning me to stay away

stay far from that somewhere else

but oh, would I like to go.

cssh cssh cshhh

maybe you're landing today

somewhere near nanaimo

somewhere in the ocean bay.

find yourself here in the rain

in raindrops beauty lives again,

leave those eyebrows off for days,

listen to the waterwaves.

Saskatchewan

Laying sprawled in the

Saskatchewan farmer's field
hands behind my head
feet crossed at the heels.
Breathing in quietly a vicarious life
(I know he worked hard for this.)
Waiting for the lightning to strike into my heart.
Colours of the sky,
the holy grail of art.

35 Degrees Cold

If I'm cold and unromantic, well, I'm scared and I am sorry.
I dull everything down- man, be a boy for me
So I can learn to be soft and girl.
This may matter to you-
this may be the world!
But right now I am closed
and self-distracted
and I can't open myself for you-
not yet, I'm sorry.

Tables

So ah
There's a lot of songs that came from us today. The Paper Makers. And about eight people sitting on the patio at Kelsey's.
I guess that's like... well, we played 26 songs, and some of them twice, so maybe about 4 or 5 songs per person. That's pretty sweet.
I'm a little tired now.
Two hundred bucks and a huh? Life as a musician? Shit. That's a week of groceries.
I'll build a house out of the boxes from NoFrills.

Newpeople, Oldpeople

One day we'll all wake up and be newpeople.

"Don't talk to me like that anymore. I'm a newperson."

Forget about the endurance, the joy, the pain, the stories, strengths and weaknesses that sum up our present selves. We are born out of thin air to be our perfect selves.
Refresh. Sequentially remove everyone who witnessed that growth from your life; everyone who would remember and maybe appreciate everything that made us who we are in this moment.

At every second I am both a bud and a blossom.

For the sake of being more accessible, I can't wait to be old and still madly in love. Wearing shorts and running shoes, holding hands and talking about why the doctor's telling me to take it easy. Sit on my front porch while Dan fixes it for the price of a fruit salad and a sandwich, while I knit my grandbaby a crappy scarf (but I try my darndest to make it nice - no pun intended).

They say the grass is always greener on the other side.
Newpeople, Oldpeople.
Clovers and ferns are pretty much always green on both sides.