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,





  you dead, you , your face and eyes were a cop, putting me down,
          taking at my flow, ripping at my story, you were afraid to surrender,
                 power you came to naturellly you were used to controlling the story,
                  forcing others to hear your interpreteation so when i esied the control


on the 'breath of many'


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



Because you were in the arms of someone else (from that Song)


Because you were in the arms of someone else, and I didn't feel
   good looking seeing feeling like a fool I

 stood on the stairs you
 Looking out of the window. how do you feel, sensing

 it that way knowing

what everyone felt about us, hearing, it'd gone wrong 

our marriage just started

   on the rocks

I entered i.e. only to find, you slouched over the couch 

yr slippers kicked off letting the
bath run water spreading down the floor over the rig the boat leaking                   

 I heard the moans the whispers, groans 

  the cries of danger, yowling midships


  How did it feeling knowing you humiliated us, not me, but us,



june is,


   June is you longing for someone far    ~
               send tender  wishes,  greetings,
                      yet  bodies hunger,yours want  for more, arms, legs , breath,
                                                 eyes close up lost in gazes,kisses,
                                     O let the clouds become us & carry the night's love, this these eyes a
                                                     our mouths molded &  strung together    ~
                                                                          our bodies shape molded in one




'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,


  i lost a poem, said Lot's daughter looking to the future and her marriage
    license expired and there was no one there looking to see her, and
         the bright blue sky poured rain
                  thick as paint on the five dollar star

      With a warrant out for your arrest you were Noah's son clogging
                on the nightmare of history mystery novels and royaltyies in banks,

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,



Saturday was Sunday


    Saturday was Sunday it became itself, being
what's that thought one
day be-
coming another/
  becomes you it 
became you

devenir toi

                   toi toi 

Samedi est devenu toi aussi mon armoire mon amour



' 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,



it isnt, responding to an editor, who misread Swords for words,not noticing the anagram,


it isnt wriitng which will fix this mad societ y  , it's writing which helped create it and which is detroying it and us all,

 writing is war,

 war   ,,,

soit must end,


but : you married someone ...

  but : you married someone ...    new  you married someone new  she was old
                                                                 not new at all not bitter as a bulldog snapping at your toes
                                                      a woman whose face puffed up (due to pride)
                                                               the thousand and one resentments of sin, and pride,
                                                                or her beauty, came back backward  haunting her,
                                                       her ass once beautiful becoming the ugliest part of her visage
                                                                 showing the retardation what was there all along,


An unkind verse in a time of  hate,


it's you. r ,

it's your love fixing  the acceptable breath, working down my domain name,
           making right and wrong steer their rugged pay,

       other matters knock,rap, creep at the door before wondering , scurrying over the word made hung,
                delaying this doll and ,