we converse in ceremonial reverse code
where every word means its opposite
every consonant scrapes like nails
across chalk
a crosswalk
a cross
from "mathematics of prayer"
2023
A Shakespearean sonnet is basically just the Elizabethan version of a dick pic.
Snow covers the land the way blank paper covers the story. The story has always been here, covered by snow. Your writing is archaeology, not imagination. You are uncovering the story, not creating it.
from “Snow”
2006
#shortfiction
the rocks arguing with one another furiously
before subsisting into dusty reconciliation
feeling finally profound, important, relevant, significant in this quick grave
for depth is created by digging
and dirt requires bones
from "the dancers in the desert"
2024
#poetry
circadian waves of mass death
caught in Acadian tides
photons, half-priced since out-of-season
outdated ash from obsolete eruptions
the retina starts
to retain light stains
macula no longer immaculate
from "the artificial waters"
2023
#poetry
for we sing from our very skin
we taste the salt in the air
our music pulls these ships apart
hisses through these alleys and lanes
these streets of wood
burning under our feet
our feet on these streets are life itself
our feet hold the ocean down
from “Duke William & Violet”
2006
#poetry
The city above had been long abandoned. We lived in the sewers beneath. As our population grew, the sewers grew: we were constantly digging new tunnels, creating new rooms to live and sleep and die in.
from "White Cloud"
2021
the sky
hardened into grey stones
falling as indiscriminate bombs
anger awakened
in a touching coming of rage story
vast, unending constellations
buried in shallow backyard graves
from “metrophilia”
2024
#poetry
there’s death in numbers
and safety in death
the past is set
the future is set
the present is uncertain
the storm pauses a moment
to take a selfie
then goes back to its work of creating new combinations of landscape
from “ADSR”
2024
#poetry
Just got a text from my brain saying I’ve used up all my emotional energy for the current billing cycle.
logging truck
trailer empty and
swinging out at me like
a claw
time saturates
bleeds from the sky as snow
weather arrives like a broken clock
scattering gears across the road
from “this hour of travel has lasted two”
1997
#poetry
i have long ago forgotten
where i left the road
i was positive
it was here. or over here
maybe i drove it so much
it became worn out
& the crew from the ministry came
& pulled up the whole stretch
brought it back to the factory for repairs
from “drumlin”
2004
#poetry
the darkness
is an answer
for which
there is
no acceptable question
from “Relapsing”
2005
#poetry
the walls
build you into a house
i climb the steps into you
you hold me in history
your story
repeated
until it becomes true
from “trance”
2006
#poetry
What if we’d washed up on an entirely new shore, a hidden, secret island where the trees grow with their leaves in the ground and their roots up in the air, where the fish fly and the birds swim and the rain jumps up from the sea and into the clouds?
From Pilgrims, 2016.
I know this neighbourhood. I intersect it without needing streets. I use street, alley, gate and yard without discrimination. I own all homes. It is my home first before it is yours. I own your burned out nose and your perforated veins. I know your debts.
from “Proof Negative”
2005
#poetry
the noise sinks to the bottom
settles in heavy layers of sediment
a voice talking about bombing hospitals
a voice talking about brain implants
the weight and the pressure combine both voices
into a single, uniform mineral
from “weight/pressure”
2024
#poetry
