missing in inaction










                                                                                ever notice that?


O ( )r say .....


which is nowhere 


notes forverse


you see_ not ready to post yet.

You see the air,
it's her. Near you.
Proche close
like in the movie.

Here here, there there. Whisper
tomyself Go there! go there!

I go to the city of light.
Finding the sweet one.



there _
Category: Writing and Poetry

There is an elephant que j'aime
(delicat dainty cher doigt d'elle)
as the air, she is, sweeter than touch.
She's there, she's here. Appearing ......

Not a hammer, mais un leger foret d'un amant ~ .
Je connais pas ce foret tres bien,
But what I know mais ce que je connais
J'aime bien. Je voir un chemin .

Moi perdue, trouve . Par elle,
Elle fort foret de fort .




heathens is a 'nice' word

   nice word nice word nice word niceword iceward icewarduh icewar

   it's made of he and hen and then

  & prayer is rare

it rhymes

someway or another

 'maybe'  'perhaps,'      'was it your  hips?'

  & the way you  read down a t the beach place

prayer's simple dial tone
an after-life to god and all

 eafers and dumbers as the maiden



de l’interprétation à l’expérimentation II


      could i have gotten her pregnant? through  the     flower of the blog?

                             her pregnancy my thought
                                   her body around the hand of the sky




Online recording software >>



her face

in the total face of stupidity. and where? hand to
  hand .     next word    as you vowel cant find  t  it . hers your s . was i jealous
   of what you could not have.
                         totalo  cocolo. something like this. wind is sweeping the door. mourn one grief.
                                         (somewhere nietzsche talks about being 'jealous of one's own soliutude' )

(on the other hand you can get sick from being alone too much  , by force)

                   sharp as a  wave cupped over her cheek. now the one on top or below.but both 
                               beneath  love's breeze.   our plage sur the infinite trottoir of the city.


her face appeared tender____



re re each word


 those two were written a few 'chapters' back on different strata/ or smooth bellies of the tarmic


 you're happier with them now?

  yes but not so happy without her

 explain more  

                  later   i cant just now/i've got to visit someone in hospital /
                                                               the dog day nights
                   dentist/ mail the gov.a letter

 it's a life isn't it?

   after a fashion

                      there's always more poetry

and her?

     i'll tell you about her anon 

he'll speak about her




them too


 those two were written a few 'chapters' back on different strata/ or smooth bellies of the tarmic


Re -----each word


Franny's got: each word by the button . of a sudden southerly fright.

 not the dying haunts

nor flying geese

but this fleece golden

between the button

no one takes her too somberly! a shout glance! a rearward horse plunging forth the froth laughing back  hung up on the air 

  Jill squares the circle nightly with 'her buttocks' blooming  a wet cement pavement cigarello. no more I to the tuning of the third person.

  Dear "I " you are no more. A few left bushes to the hutton .
a word prepared for escape.
but even then pissed to the edge of its 'ever green' forest orb and robin to your hood.

each word

inn(finite) (s)
                  roll upward

____pretend a page _________ 

 Between each word Mona hangs a wreckage night| a ball pruned to pollarded circumstance| a rocking ball askant the worked  ouns of the  belly goating perch.
                         A round the island kirk and hill bustle with 
                                the hustle a wall of water 

Not here or near it explains what's come to past.

Now your memory 's a  a  a   fear which come to fresh posture in that rank branch  of what was it's killing 

Thence its work bines the cow requisite to its fearful throng. A word creates another beside twitching weir crumbled

at the near end of the edge of  a word of the spotless of

 pier? Mona 'shair raising failure  /allure. Jill's product is the hummerdrummer  J_____. The dancer ina chair without fail her fauve past has not pastshe's rigged to a chair dancing still this fauve breast her hips wore swinging chairs to   

breath again   

Jill steels herself pen

                                                                  Franny or Fanny fainting finding dharma of good looks Buddha not a simple recogition but a working to the creating



Re: ...remanded



  with commanded.

  & what happens to those that don't follow commands?  Ah! what eerie fate! a lover's choice!
  to fall down on the ground! in hate! and remand! a demand! a command!  a custer's last
   stand?       but the rhyme putters off like any goodness sake &
     life's short but brutal


     okay back to rhymes climb dime
    command remand



   An Observation __ Mona's career point . No one has a  dog a dig a dig's where you camp out.


'between each moment a radical taste for life sojourns us.
not governed by the  idea of anything we move  on
taking our carpenters with us left right to the song out front

does any recognize the kit moment ?
 a through  innocence believes its hour tacking
at sunrise  blinking at a word's carnal color

close to a fragrant rose vivified by plus and minus
antonymed  and sanctified a taste long worn its sunrise'

(catch this please it's as a collaege a bit of torn paper)


 She wrote that quite awhile ago?
Yes I did i mean she did in her spare time catching a train
not a 

Jill'd held  the hugger-mugger long enough but can't find her mothe r.  Running across the double circumflex of a  crucifixion he had to get out of a fast moving chariot avoiding Roman gladiators onthe way and other arseholes bargained by the toot toot of the Dominion of Canada. 

Is that sort of a versicle to written rages of booth? A booth in air where she lives. I am envious. coveting her strange evenings.




love continually demanded of me


' a line


'Resume and return the night's are day.



... bond... on ... y r ....

           you gonna need some  body on your bond 
  you gonna need some  body on your bond

Wore a hat kept a bed, mailed herself upside down.
the birds ring

You're gonna need somebody on your bond
Lord, Just wait in the midnight when death comes

lord, Just wait in the midnight when death comes slippin' in your room in your room on your bond!waiting in the midnight when the death comes //?!Opposite Direction Marquees>>> i was a fine musican once...!wating for someone on yr bond i came to jesus once i was worried weary an sad ...o n my bond your hand my hand on our bond on your lap and our bond on our land .. round midnight in your room !in my bed in our bed we're gonna need somebody on our bond in that dayi m thinking in our heartslippin' in your room You're gonna need, ah, somebody on your bond !slippin' in your room
You're gonna need, ah, somebody on your bond





I said to her ... or was thinking of saying ,

      or she was thinking

         do you like ice-cream better than my bum?

  I wanted to say, with a smile      laughing the way we do

  I'd prefer your ice-cream bum 
     any old day !


got a

               Mona's  got a jacket between her legs that says hey nonny-nonny this is most golly-jolly with a hey an ho an this life's most naughty for the taughty for the lossy the lousy?

 This was after reading Klo...  she went skiing 'down' the existential slope her ontological salad a missing wound to her salient summer.

   One  of the fifth and lasts? what summer brings? who knows how the hammer of repetition charms out its difference to the god-sake of the becomings.


two ____On an old run down balcony I am standing there taking shelter from the rain















give them bread not water Socrates
   on the tips of your finger    at the arroyo     a sand storm brewing?  it's keen hearing that wind .. hurts

the ear      ~


____ there








____ ______




_________ ___


_________ _______




LonG SilVer ExECution Dock ________________________

________________________________________________________________ Below the thunders of the upper deep, Far far beneath in the abysmal sea, His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee About his shadowy sides: above him swell Huge sponges of millennial growth and height; And far away into the sickly light, From many a wondrous grot and secret cell Unnumbered and enormous polypi Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green. There hath he lain for ages and will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep, Until the latter fire shall heat the deep; Then once by men and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die. 

Alfred Lord Tennyson 


... to ... do

I spy ... they spy ... C spy


I spy with my little eye

  they spy on us & we try to spy back

  but the big bad goverment gets to spy badder than all of the rest of us combined

   who aren't trying to 'spy' at all but just to      SEE where we are going  

 ng Act and the Secure Air Travel Act, to amend the Criminal Code of Canada, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service Act and the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act.

"So, Canadians should ask themselves," wrote Atwood in an email response, "what happens if their name gets onto an Enemies List by mistake, or even on purpose, through malevolence (their girlfriend's ex-boyfriend doesn't like them, etc.) and their life is messed up, their future is destroyed, they can't fly anywhere, their IP is stolen and sold (why not? Very tempting), their identity is hacked and tampered with, etc.?"

"What recourse would they have? If any? How would they even know who had falsely accused them?"

"This kind of absolutist government power takes us back to the age of the Inquisition."
                  about  Bill C51 the terrible blight which  now become law

         the conservatives passed                  - the liberals supported it __

                              The NDP was against from the word go and rightly so


... saint

Saint Apollonia  pray for me now 
      patron saint
________________________  at night & at day


  Apollonia ..... the patron saint  
                                               those suffering toothache, dental damage, extractions ....  and unnecessary unasked suffering .. pray for us that cannot afford the dentist's charge!

    those whose teeth were rotted before they were born
      & those that never learned to floss properly
   now toothless or gummy!

   no more able to indulge in the savoury capitalist's delectations of   this and that
         and those and these...

  who's laughter is gummy
    who's kisses yummy
!                                          !

   pray for us and them

     pray for our teeth gold and silver enamel
   but not white   pray not Saint white, but red red red a s the    beauty  of its boldness





it ... hit .. me...


   yesterday evening when i was speaking it hit me that the story of
                 jesus is about a  man  and his father
    that the similarity between
                                       a man & his father who was not there
                                                                       (is not far-fetched)
                                                    (and whose son is sacrificed)
    sacrifices his son
      (or asks and is given 'voluntarily'  that life )
                                                         & where is the mother

     for the bastard son

                 and                      the           'foster-father'

                                          and the parallels   of that to my own journey


the half dozen foster mothers
                            the false violent foster fathers

            looming over threatening
                          the kid walking home from school

                  that was violent
                                                  the neglect in the last place

                                                        till the first rebellion


Re: dispossessed

 Not that one should hate , on the contrary , it's hatred that blocks the view, resentment makes us sick and

  crazy however in a  world of injustice with pain raining around us day and night

   it is at times

     the  only  space

  hmm it's like that slogan I saw painted on the fence years back

Angry can be an EnERGy

    so yeah spiritually angry is crazy

but if one can convert __ harness that negative  charge turning it positive well then\

 there's  a flow then isn't there



   this thing family is a farce

i've heard nothing of these people known as such for months

and the other day i am on the road    waiting on a bus

  & looking up i see this SUV and a woman inside pulling up the window and some guy staring with sunglasses and realizing its my brother i smile and its boiling Hot out and the  bus looks to be late and I say hey and so on


and ask for  aride to the metro

  a ride  a simple ride

      no can do im told

we're heading down here                    for  'lunch'

  well I said to myself when that was over

i've no connect any longer to those people none at all

i've no brother i know of  

  not one born fromthe same mother

that's for sure

 not one born from the same father

  the one I knew

this guy in the SUV

  with the 75 dollar sunglasses

  he's not my brother

  & the creature driving his vehicle was a  just somone 
 from a another planet

                  (they're not my friends/not my enemies
                            they're just nothing to me)


i went on my bus ride

   (on my way)

                                                                                   alone &not alone

                                               with all of the other people  
                                                   without a ride


 it ' s funny when i think about it/ this guy with the SUV the one born 

  from the same mother/he's not anyone i know/
   a mirage



who're these people the strangers
   in the rear view mirror of the family

    a coincidence of blood but Able &
Cain  was a drama  kicked off

the paradigm 

  one doesn't want to see this thing repeated
   so let's retreat into a nother world




 when you 've been dispossessed all of your life you can only hate those who possess.



and? what pray are thee doing?


 And Mister Duffy what are you doing?
  I am fiddling around
  and as there has been no fiddle nor fife
     i've found a fridge a fried egg between each pipe


A And

   and it was something hoeing down going down
     yet clear to its firesome choice the book greensward to the melted freeze
   on the mountains as the bare top of a tree swore
   she pillaged my lips 
   yetdead from lack of use
   there bliss was gone
    not haunted by a real kiss


or that


of that which is born who  say a lively interaction of the text and its recomposing Reader and the ghost of dead  not really close to this upset worth worndering its pitch  is not a situation of the text that speaks for itself and Asks to be read and re-read in the misprision of its clinamen. A climax of death and spasm followed by the puling lie of reincarnation Verloush schizoyourheart's friend.a body like this between her(e)pages my friend. the anger rosing up a well geyser busting the roof of the born manchild and  the hurly burly man asked about the   tenth weed and the 

sunkalone path of the lover body groan not home found to her reaching for it's a read thing to be seen this way as a piece of something the side the citron
  of the friend did not call and the hall broke then its steadfast lonelybalonely between the mouths of 

forgever .




You've written a  lot of poems.

  About a million.in the tens of thousands? hundreds? really it was only 12  you wrote yes it 's  a  culture of  

Would you describe what you do as inter-disciplinary?

for sure but it doesn't put bread on the table

and it won't get me a canada council grant, nor pay the dentist,

that's all been taken up by others who are better at that sort of thing, you know, labelling , cataloguing , con vincing and persuading someone that they can do something, and maybe it's even

'cultural' and worthy of investing in.... 

 that's the way it goes, you know  it s patronage of one sort or another ...

whether institutional or not...


 That's a lot of poems   and for nothing  too....
 what made you do it?

    I was an artist, I had to do something. Started when i was young, kept going. through thin and thick. thither and hither 
shimmy this an shimmythat.

 had to something with my time.... like anyone else  .             the e l e c tric f o r c e o f    l i f  e




Temporary Closed



 Temporary Closed  Temporarily Closed  Temporarily  Closed  Temporary Closed Temporary Closed

revisions etc.                  etc  revision                   ....  


her mouth


her mouth was always someone i knew jawline transforming
physiognomy into the memory of  the tribale memory previous lives of perverse
warrings of bodies


  the above became this




  of course everything that he writes is pure fiction.

  ______________he's a multimillionaire'

______________shitloads of loot pour from his arse nightly. filthy lucre. __  a  diamond dagger a night.

__________one wouldnt want to take the words of a poet seriously. figurative language doesn't add up to 'figures'______________


words and money

 Were I to be paid for the words I have written , on the blogs alone, I would have paid the the (my) debt over many times. were the words I wrote in the essays, tests, exams, memoirs, the words I spent in courses, the times I asked questions, the times I replied, the times I assisted other students,  and the dissertation, even with the money 'given' to complete the years of study,___ (or those  years of volunteer work__(while the fat got fat and vacations)   and the noisy apartments ___ the moves, __ one box after another ___  I would have paid this debt and the bursaries. Of course, the work I did that I was paid for is another matter, but we are not counting this. I think it would be interesting to present a case, in 'the motion' along these lines to explain my own situation. perhaps that is far-fetched, but when one's facing the odds there may be something to consider in marshalling something of this response if it comes to court. I don't know.

If my words are worth nothing, if what I have done amounts to nothing, then what has this been for?

      When asked someone says , am I guilty, was I in bad faith?  or if the question's posed : 
"should there be  'more for the poor'? Ah, yes, more welfare, I think there should more yes."

More welfare, yes, but also more spreading of the wealth to the hungry . and the forlorn and the rest of 'them.
I am writing this as I am so pissed off at their stupid little machine, that I feel like just fuck it.
And leaving
and go off somewhere
and just forgetting about it. to retreat to the street whence I came.


 the river beckons with its deep dark words
  the debt collector cranks up the heat
   the machine's bleak  and IMF pours concrete on the feet of the swollen and dead

 the waves's teeth call back with a crash and sound
    neglect neglect neglect
      there is no call so solemn
  it's cheap to write words
   not the rich famous words of the puffy drunk
                 but the dead and the living




.. waiting for


  waiting for the gov. is always 'not' fun
    they're good at making people wait they make
a living do that
   waiting in lines here and hither

    waiting in back-rooms waiting in war zones
    in bedrooms and lovers beds and in the sun's shadow with
   an infinite taxation
provoking guilt want and need as a matter of course
  controlling the lives, displaying the death
    perpetrating the fist
       choking up the passage
  blocking out the free ways where one might leave linger and  love
 a   touch longer giving life more than death

 they'd rather make you wait
  till yr breath gasps
     &yr heart chokes
 keeling over croaking right?
it's what they do

  claiming all the while
it's love, and country , and state, and the law

  of the fittest
   the law of the 
      debit & credit
          where bookeepers are made
                      mother and child
            hanging on the end of their rope
    waiting for every meal that brings a cent
    or any decent wage getting the rent paid

   working at the clock as doom's   kicks its bulk around
    running down everyone that's ever  made a move
   to real living not death
   as its paid cheap dues
   on low interest
    & the principle gets frozen
 but the interest never stops building
   an infinite rent ever rising in the

                               in the impossible blue

  reaching out to the sky  a building banging the heavens
    w  a i t  i n g   t  o  c r  a s h
   & making everyone feel  guilty in the process

          what sort of thing is this that's escaped  human attention so long
  there's no poetry there it' just tawdry death
    with a dirty old face

   a draft


.'. kidnapped... ' robert louis stevenson


  just about finished it but on the way on the bus, too distracted (by the stars and moon) , to notice, noticing nothing, but my hungry,

   in more than one sense,
   and arriving home i find i've  not got the  book

the second to very last chapter of this splendent book

  penned by Mister Louis and it's idiom and command its remand , as it were, as it

remand the command of dialect and description , never boring, ever thrilling

a man writing on the run, about a man , on the run ,

 it's  a memoir a fictional, memoir .

  an I that's fictional,  it's fascinating that period of literature,

it's where i fancy myself as the I of his writings, mine that have borne much, suffering ,a lone a  rock in  a dessert of pears, pairs, peaches,

  of apple pie and families gone by and far, and one knowing never the 'truth' of one's history, the 'true

 s tory of the black-outs before the blackouts in that father and family on the run
   and the broken teeth,

 and the heart ache, and his quick departure, there was no night, it was the first black out of my life,
his death,

a  god dying before  my  helpless arms


No wonder the guy on the cross looked familiar, it looked my father

__________________Ah, but night was an arm,
                                    he was not of course, I knew that, but the kid

                                       doing his communion, 'holy communion' a head full of tears
                                             and Chinese eyes did he know thus?

 there was nothing. No one to carry him off.
And the streets became a splendid dream
   of freedom

        and   'to hell with it'


   O cloud and night
                                aid me
              Compass me with your love






  in this instance, the cigarette  burns   in lieu of her lips

   her kiss his kiss around a circle of her arms
   that spare nothing /when loving

        but the breath's caught  for the nonce
    in the ember of this far

     but how a silhouette hints at desire's longing
    a body created wanted   abody longed for




   these nights of days/he wakes night/day between dawn  dusk across a sky that's not known to his eyes in person over a water that's deep across a wide body of water/ and
    in her body of water
                     day of nights

   nights of day

   night of day
    lips of clay
      are her eyes okay


re .. clip.. listing


we'll return to this mister language maker.

                .more anon then 


.. clip.. listing


... the world stands on it head though
   as you will  ...

he was worn with the

 he was burned with   not with  but a the stood at rainbow   or the end of a wharf .

  but an ill-bred reader'd never grasp this. as the death of  the english voice drowning

  but the he. the he at each pavement step not the cut off of  . whatwas admired in death had never been his path

a road of destruction they had chosen not his. his had been the turning around of the dot in the sentence of death. the death sentence.

  the one troubled sentence  consisting of subject object verb

. he'd kick a ball instead with periods. . at both ends. making his own sentence forms. as it was creation mattered not the imposing warlogs of construed after the fact directions on the flow of traffic, language's  traffic. more than a run on sentence but sentences running, listing, cupping, , ramming , banging,,


humming, cambering, truant bastards o f the line    of hip , hand, and eye ,   a flickering ,

   clicker, of a phrase, ham strung in the ward of what a language might do on a given second.


More anon then.


the world


 the world is an aeroplane . and a  telephone too. an ear walking the très street amble of the ville
across the betweens and belongs.

  the world is a raspberry. a boysenberry at five o'clock.

   the locks of the Lachine canal  rise up and go down as stairs  crunching the piece of time.

but you say how can stairs crunch bits of time in its hands but the hands of the stairs are like windows. or gore bulls in this strange painting of reality.

 and  its dozen beauties. that take you so long to imitate you never realise you're going past them.
 before you're gone.

  and the clock shrinks. back. like saran wrap is it called. or the dusty road in the page. a ringing stone
   beckoning rage. or the prophet himself with his glasses
 quietly speaking    reminding listeners of what's gone wrong and not to forget.

 the clouds melt and pelt backwards their rose colour.