Procrastination = bad, bad bad.

1. if you let the egg bake too long, it will burn and the teflon will come onto it
2. if you wait until spring to build the snow fort, you can't
3. if you are in the washroom until the song is over, the person you were going to dance with will be sad and you will experience heartache

im finally done work, but not until taylor's off too. so we walk to the back together bitching about head management and opportunities and the like. i grab my bike and she calls a cab and we part ways. "i'll talk to you on msn later!" "yeah, so be there!" roll eyes, ride my bike away into the cold night. ive got my fuzzy hunting hat with the earflaps and like three sweaters on. and gloves. i can see my breath but i'm not too cold. i don't have to stop for anyone since it's 11pm at night on a sunday. i ride through the crunchy snow and ice onto the trail that follows the creek. it's faster and quieter.

then i see the beast
i know why we call it a deer
so natural and quiet
but how can this creature exist in a word?
and when it looks at me i feel wrong but so lucky
it lets me get so close
and doesn't run away but just walks
it needs the grass and i'm not dangerous
somehow it knows.
i take pictures on my cellphone but they might as well be UFO sightings
it could be a dog, but i'll know it's not.

and suddenly
the world is so much bigger.
i emerge from the path by the river onto a six-lane road, brightly lit-
but empty and cold
and all i hear is the air in my tires
and some clinking that tells me my bicycle's old.
the leaves that so recently sheltered the landscape
from largeness have fallen and i see the fields
(and i just saw the deer)
and suddenly i could be in peterborough or something
and brampton is placed
the whole GTA is placed
in Canada, on the land
the only boundaries are bus lines.

so i am so quiet
and my ears are so open
when a strange-looking space age car drowns me out
and so the world is unhuman

and i am alone

no one else dares face the cold

or the mystical beasts
that feast by the river.

I'm getting anxious.

My feet are getting vibrations from somewhere else.

I thought I'd be content to sow some roots

do what I have to do

but I miss it.

Origami Bird

I'm not afraid to fall apart, cause I think it's plain to see we've got the biggest hearts in the whole world.

There's a rumbling, a car in my driveway, they're keeping it running but I'm not ready, the winter is changing. The winter is changing. There used to be snow but it seems to be raining- the ice it is melting but it's getting colder, our lives are cut shorter as we get older, we still have hundreds of years, but I am not without my fears, so you can count on me never to pretend. I think with my heart and feel with my hands,

cause I'm not afraid to fall apart, I think it's plain to see we've got the biggest hearts in the whole world.

Oh it's a trick, it's unfortunate that our light's separated by miles and the topography is crossable but not without money. Only time can bring you home, and I'm never alone, you're never alone - but how many tomorrows, how many days are there left in this little place? I found you and I did not pretend though I'm unsure if I'll find you again,

but I'm not afraid to fall apart, cause I think it's plain to see we've got the biggest hearts in the whole world.

Oh my heart will turn

to an origami bird

and follow your plane

but my body will stay.

My heart will turn

to an origami bird

and follow your plane

but my body will stay.

Same moon, same stars, same sun, same cars,

and I have no regrets, I felt your beat in my chest-

same moon, same stars, same sun, same cars,

and I have no regrets, I felt your beat in my chest.

bad days

and if reality is silence,

and if truth is sadness,

and being is anonymous,

then i am having a bad day.
*

seeing through it, or not seeing it?

closed eyes-closed arms-
a tourist town.
people walk, walk-walking, cavorting around.

I have weight. baggage. crumbling knees. stand beside me please!
but close eyes. close arms.
don't see. don't touch.
there's a secret a-blowing that no one does much
around here, in this bustling, tourist town,
potential,
dormant,
lies underground.

this isn't me.
this isn't true!
I am in a city but belong in, belong in,

must search for- an artificial home for the time being but I
WILL NOT
SETTLE
for artificial love.
*

first day of university.

birds of feather-
popped collar, puffed feather-
proliferate this room,
and i am not compelled to move.
i see from where i am
dimorphism of man.
with speculative hands,
i wave it all in two.


flocks of birds of feather gathering and pecking,
pigeons on the sidewalk; pigeon girls all strut in circles.
contrast this with the heron
you never see in the building (trapped within four concrete walls)-
except when baited with promised pond.



oh look! a bird of feather
popped collar, lofty plume,
is charming that side of the room
but i am not compelled to move.
watch how all the others move!
and how i'm quiet,
and how i'm still.
watch how they proliferate the room!
my feathers grey-
or are they blue?

yeah this place is so watered down, no wonder it's called the flower city,
and there's nothin' to do when i walk around, but oh it looks so pretty!

last night i dreamt that i got shot,
what once was then, well now it's not,
and everything i carried dropped,
made puddles on the wet sidewalk.
last night i dreamt that i got shot,
what once was then, well now it's not
and everything i carried dropped,
made puddles on the wet sidewalk-
**

shoop shoop de lang
a bit of tea oolong
a little clang clang
a little singy song

the night will soon be gone
time for a morning poem
the buzzing wasp above my head
is looking for a home

Androgenous

now that i am vulnerable to you
be to me as you would your father to be to your mother
or would a man to be to your reighteous sister-
so strong and quiet with breath that laughs from the peace of the earth,
fearless with life from the joyous water.

be to me not as you would to an extension of yourself
for i know the way you hurt yourself
and i could not bear the pain of being part of you.

The city in which I live but don't call home

i open up my i's and i'm on the sidewalk
humble peasant of the concrete.
never seen the sun or the trees but i can feel them.
never heard the dewdrops evaporating in the early morning sun
but i can feel them,
and a word appears in my ear that the theatre's been shut down-
no monday movies or evening shows or other excuses to wear the nice fedora that hangs too often on the hatrack.

i open my mouth. do i have a voice?
it falls into the snow-filled valleys on the side of the street-
places-
trenches, wars, i fought alligators,
now the monster sleeps, under snowhills
that the plow makes steep
and the theatre is shut down,
snow covers the ground.

there were angels here once. with honey in their tongues
to make love with their fingers to the canvas of the air
painting colors into dreams and patterns into seams
with tiny feet they scurried away fast as they could
when the going got good.

this city got so big we can't fit our arms around it.
maybe if all five-hundred thousand of us joined hands we could do it,
but one's got the fever and one's got no money
and most of them wouldn't get around to it.

i re-close my eyes and see exactly what i saw when they were open -
reflections of light, and memories of mine.



i can navigate these streets with closed eyes using memories of mine,
but one day memories won't be enough.

the pictures will fade and the landscape will change
and be reframed-
and then who will lead? man or machine?
walk with me, for i am blind.

one day you too may close your eyes
and walk on memories.

soon equalities will equalize and
all the hatreds will subside and
our fires will be drenched in ice
faces frozen in positions last. flowers from the hearts are passed,
through snakes in tunnels/mouth to ear
sometimes too loud to hear.

and how will we face the things to come?
back to back will we link arms?
be my cane, i'll be your mountain
and we'll find the summer at the summit,
somewhat.

Whisper-shouting

The city is making me quiet.
I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not a dream.

I'll miss you

It's tough to pitch a tent in the wintertime

the snow is cold and I don't feel like dying.

The tree said it's not my time to go

its roots felt something underneath the snow.

If hotels were cheaper I would hop on a bus

or a train and just leave for three or four days

to give myself some time to chew on this

but grinding my teeth will make me toothless

And somewhere in my walking I had misstepped

Is it wrong to think that nothing is important?

When confidence makes stout my body

Puffed out chest and long shirtsleeves

I give my words permission to leave

From the branches of my tongue they're leaves

Puffed up woman and puffed up man

Concrete pushing further from the land

throwing salt to try and melt the snow

pincushion puffed-up human has to go

And somewhere in the talking I was misread.

Is it wrong to think that nothing is important?