How come?


                                   why not move things channel to channel range to range over a stove called Canada

     a  place you call home boxed by its narrative to change what was what becomes



this blog and


  I'm no longer posting to  this blog in a regular basis
                                                 but have moved


     People an blogs move as nations do

                         as trucks,



on the 'breath of many'


   On the secrets of lovers and time,
                the hidden place the secret bodies & locations,
                          the night  air between their mouths,
                                                tenderness on their fingers,
                                                         holding the air,





'Vancouver, __________________________the eastern bowl! the western end of the world! Love
                                                                  off Broadway and 37 the avenue
                            overlooking the  valley .. there's the train over there.. a little east..
                                                                                             from where I'm standing .. 

     it's been too long,
                                     my good old Vancouver,



i lost a p,


  i lost a poem and can't , it was something about June and the moon and in love,

             and the rakes and the great dead men or the women sweeping with their dresses,
            i lost the rhyme and the secret the scene the mean,
                       and the inspired Miss Clean
                                          with her Ajax toilet,

                                              and it went something like this,


yr face


our face and eyes were a cop, putting me down     you

 weren't the first,





Never have you been so beautiful losing you I knew
  it was true nothing like your heart'd palpitate nor beat near mine again i was worn an old stone, broken
out in love rash burnt and basted,
  but your courage & high heart,
            your mind, your proud fiery steel ,
                 yes most of all your love,
                           running over (to me )
                                   sea and sky
                                          it was you
                                                it was me
                                                  in  my fedora
                                                              hiding out in my subconscious hat,
                                                               you were all brave standing out
                                             fearing nothing giving all, your cards and tokens,
                                                                  gifts and knick-knacks, no one was more
                                                    beautiful nor honest, more fierce
                                                                         no one more lovely in her shape and form,
                                                                        than you you your beauty, your love,
                                                                              i was a comma breaking tide,
                                                                                                sick as a thief on the side of a road,
                                                                                                        turned inward
                                                                                                              on the involutionary                                                                                                                                           scale,
                                                                                                   written by time,

                                                                                                               broken weeds,
                                                                                  and turning around the corner there you were,



' the way


    the way you hold  out   we move up the river treading
                          happiness  leaves trail after us
                                 moonlight falling through the woods
                                                           & your eyes  hold the bank

                                        the water cracks O no one doesn't say that  especially here
                                in heaven where the hay make woods

                                      nothing's been a whisper better
                                               your arm around my waist wading the water



re what :Iceland Ireland


   CP  Iceland  & Ireland are almost identical  ~  which is the one you visited first and previously as well as severally?

 CD, yes the first three letters, 2 vowels, one consonant, stands for Celtic?
                     she's lifting her chin,

                  upseeking, upspeaking,  

' except Iceland the land of caves and primitive dirges is not catholic at all,

          i waked on the beaches finding pebbles a thousand years back the names of gods
                                       scrawled on their back,
                        and on the backsides of  women rolling breakers peeling forth
                              the high hung goose! the golden gander!
                                  Not truly Celtic but Norse like Nordic, '

 some other race of seafaring
also Ire is not cold but hot ice is deep as the earth the body without organs penetrating the strata,'

off the coast of Vik,   one could almost imagine the Faroe Islands far off,! 



_____________ and what about Iceland then what reason brought you there?

  the day light,  


  Bobby Fischer, the man, the player, the event, its history , his history,

                the world's the tourament ,   'd a poet,       the caves,
                           the beauty of the North,







J'ai .• ~ beaucoup combattu dans la solitude de la mort Contre rna vocation. Telle fut l'~preuve, et le purgatoire \ du Poete. / Leopold Sengor

I have .•. greatly struggled within the solitude of death Against my nature. Such have been the task and the purgatory of the Poet. Author's Translation



Bank Holiday


  Bank Holiday ______________

              no such thing in Canada,

                           no banks (tanks), no holidays  (in other people's misery) , no  credit, no necessary                             measures relieving the debt
             the poor and tarnished, the feeble and weak, the one hundred emigrants, immigrants, passport please police passport control,  the weak, the halt, the, 
                                       the wankers, refugees , fugitives of justice, cowards,
                                                          figures of speech and money, honey dripping at their side,
    neither friend nor enemy,
                                                                hordes of monied capitalists fleeing their
                               countries of origin, false flashers,

                                                              the I Ching said move yr ass,
                           sing your butt,


Blimey, you're gobsmacked,