The Depth of Night

The sea of time, enveloping us
Harbours our age, our significance
Whereas we
Sitting on this droplet
View the cosmos with equal fear
And curiosity

At age 11 I spotted Saturn
My own eyes held gaze upon its shape
With centered halo
Giving signature to the reality of space
And the crunching perspective of all things

Sky, oh sky so glorious
As you awaken with the darkness
Do you know our craters and shadows
Do you live as the space between atoms
With scales obsolete?

We are merely the skin of what we are
Pale and soft
We are fuel to our tomorrows
The failures of our ancestors dreamscape
Or perhaps little more than the horror
Of this human mind

I cry for the hopeful
Giving their children to the lamb
The livestock of corrupt deception
Baking their flesh into stories of misdiagnosed faith
Stealing only hours
And the opportunity to witness the greatness
Of without

We are art
We are action
We are explorers and truth-tellers
We are animals
We are not

Beneath this night
As the bears grumble behind the brush
I find myself falling up
Into the reigns of nothingness
And everything
I am of mind
And inevitably:

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Those quiet owl eyes
Weighted at the edges
The energy in those limbs
That hair
Only burdened this love affair

We shared clothes
Or perhaps I just held yours
For the rosewater
In my closet
A mothball effect
That loans me your fragrance

It returns still
Decades untouched
In many ways destroyed
Change, age, trailed by floating ribbons
Only my skin remains familiar
Staring at these hands
And the light scent your neck so carried

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45 RPM

Within the velvet & wood tiled walls
We lay alongside
Our childhoods and horizons
Shag carpet worming though our fingers and hair
We see tomorrow
Skirting among the trees of various seasons
We may never be here again
But we are here now

The value of a song
Lies in the effort of playing a single
Fumbling with that plastic adapter
Feeding motion to the gears
Setting the speed
And dropping the needle
Oh so delicately

Back to the floor
Sinking with the heroin
Of bass and long strings
Our fingertips spark
We are static
Not even long play

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It cascades upon us, through our fingers
And between our legs
We view it in all its weight upon the face
Of our grandmothers, fathers, ourselves
Even the screens show us fame
Which itself falls ethereal
Into shadow

The names, dates, and ceramics
Mean little to those impossibly cold fingers
Ashes to wind

Greatness is hardly brass
Hunkering in lofty windows
And yet those mean streaks go soft
Curving closer to the soil
The species of decomposition
Breath, our only fortune

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Funny, Enough

Pancakes and falling leaves
Summer is done
And the Wish Book nostalgia is nearing
But this heart
It contrasts against familiar hands

You should have known me
My darkness settled
Into a time warped concentration
I’m reaching for something
In subtlety and focused breath
I’m reaching for something
That is not so much there

I’ve run these circles for you
For her
For her
For him
For her
For us
For all

I’ve been on and on
These roads again
Holding the wheel
With again
These familiar hands
One eye held to the windshield

We never get far after the night creeps in
We never get past your first moan
The sheets know the story
Of hips, roses
And the bloodshed of thorns
It’s just the first gate
And my shirt is missing

You left with a message on my lips
The female memory
Escapes with the skin
Dry and of no purpose
Swallowed by gravity
And left to me alone

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Tears of Laughter

Your accent carried like a banjo
Cool, and familiar
Not unlike the uncle with a thousand tales
You only had about 400

Used record stores meant something beneath your sun
Christmas turkeys and small towns
Small town humour
The likes of which we all know

An acoustic nostalgia
Brought to every city and town
This is Canada
From life to life

So thank you Dave,
With all your incapabilities
Thank you Morley,
For your ever-present balance

Thank you Stuart
For the voice
The voice that my very cells lean to
The voice my mind speaks while reading your obituary

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I lie
In need of sleep
But there is a smooth passage
That begins with the closing of my eyes

I feel my heart
My hairs meeting breeze and static
The moisture of my eyes
Sound eludes me

My organs functioning
In unison
Encouraged by the blood
Communicating its presence, its worth

These moments spell innocence
As they do vulnerability
I am but a flake
Skin upon skin

Ever fractured
Smaller bits and pieces
I seek my cells

They improvise relationships
Electrical vibrations

But then I fail
To disassemble
I am already gone
My breathing taken to rhythm

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The co-dependence of a telephone pole
10 degrees off
Feeds the depression of motorists
With the shame of abandonment
Despite the strength of longevity
No one wants to live forever

My dog makes me famous
Among species of all rank
I am but his abstract
Displeased by modern women
And attractive food
I am the foam
To his falling water

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A Lingering Twang

This creative life
Hardly creative
Eats at the fabric of excess
Looking backwards
At the race of man
A game of survival
We watch the leaves fall
Leaders, Teachers, Classmates
Sinking like a country song
Among the roots of niceties
And regret

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To break you
To shatter the degree of your eyes
And stutter your breathing
With words and words alone
Or perhaps even a song
A dance of notes and characters
Swinging into a code
That the heart can cipher
And choose to eject
Seven years after healing

This is a swan song
A walk into the sunset
As seen on screen and stage
Only sought in reality
As dirty as mud

The farmer loved his wife
And she loved her children
Things were smooth and cool
Until the winter walked in
Romance dies in the silence of cold
Fallen trees and voyeur rodents
But for the broken ones
With frozen eyes and visible air
They lean into the creaky steps
Dancing it into song

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