Is it spring yet?

When time takes over your life it is not easy. But time has always taken over your life and you failed to recognize it. But once you realize it you wake up. And when you wake up you don’t like the look of things. Or maybe you like it too much. Hard to tell if it scares you or turns you on. And/or both. Simultaneously. You are hot and bothered that people will see you, so you stick to the night and hope for the best of the worst. But hope is useless when you’re dying. Oh, we’re all dying now. Dying to get out.

Words and the Wordless

She cannot find the words. And so, she walks away. It is as easy as that. A blank page. An open field. Invisible, unreadable, and possible. Like the future: blank and so full. Sometimes she cannot say what she means because words are mere outlines of the bodies she contains. She is full of wordless beings. She is wordless trying to use words to express what cannot be expressed quite. A look a touch a feeling abandons language and walks away

into a world that is my different world. I come to everything as though it was the first time. Faith has me trust what lies beyond. I wake up speechless. I wake up to the world’s warm body against mine. The world’s eyes are shiny and I do not try to read them. They look and I look and we exchange our silence. I let go into other truths. The truth transcends our words. We know this. We know a lot more than we let on.

EXPOZINE

Come check the 'toomuchinformationplease' booth out at this year's Expozine. I'll be pushing my chapbook 'the burden of a song' and some zines which will be excerpts from my collection 'see you in hell-- suckers'. I promise I won't pressure you to buy anything, even if I know you. Unless you're my sister, and then, well, you'll have to buy everything to make me feel as though I'm not a failure as an artist. That's what family is for, no?

Saturday, November 24 and Sunday, November 25, 2007, from 12 p.m. to 6 p.m. at 5035 St-Dominique (Église Saint-Enfant Jésus, between St-Joseph and Laurier, near Laurier Métro).

PS: I'll only be there on Saturday, but my buddy Ian Cant will be there both days and may have some of my stuff on his table on the Sunday. Ian's press: http://theunkindnessofravenspress.blogspot.com/

Expozine website: http://www.expozine.ca/

Midnight

In the eternal reoccurrence of my heart,
There is a moment that stretches across time
To meet itself over and over again. Time,
that thing that runs away and towards us colliding.
“There is that moment again!” we say rubbing
Our respective psychological states. Oh,
This flipping dance of a wrestling match,
Your skin sets my palms aflame. No,
This will not be that familiar poem
About longing or the isolation of time;
An amputated clock ticking its phantom tic.
This will be an exaltation of love’s cliché,
A spinning and turning with the half cry
Of your face under the romance of the moon.
The moment of this heart echoes
The heart of this moment, into this love of a poem
That writes, has written and will continue
To remind us that the moon is always full and
We will forever be under the spotlight of time.

Lying in bed

All the poetry has come alive. It has left the pages blank and is living itself in another language. We no longer have to pause to note things because we are moving in the fluid continuity of the expansive moment. Meters are now footsteps echoing down lines becoming couplets lying in stanzas. We need nothing to say on top of each other. The sensation of warmth; the meeting of our mouths.

More, On Another Tonight

When I realized how important I was and wasn’t, that’s when the pressure came off. That’s when it stopped and started. We will live again. We will live. And I realized, really realized we were all as important as we all are important. And if not in this life, than in your next, that is not mine, but indirectly is, ours. Collectivity, if you will. We’re not all that far off, We. So the outcomes do not have to be as hoped for. Hope was an expectation I did not want to want. I need, Now. This moment. This here. We will live again, and as I heard her sing it again and again, each one of us repeatedly needing, I realized we will live again, because we living are together.

Patti Smith, Tonight

A woman gets on a stage and sings. Her voice thunders out filling the room. Space is completely occupied by the richness of the sound; by its sheer force. The woman’s hair flies wildly, her body moving to the instruments that are her backdrop. Her face contorts as her mouth widens, to fill, fill, and give from within herself. Her years saturate the moment; her age is experience made beautiful. Free flowing movements take over her body where anything she wants to say, moves. Her fierce eyes dance as she sings, spits, closes her eyes and. Sings. Sings and Sings. The warrior. Fearless. Listen. She is Patti Smith.

http://www.pattismith.net/

Yes

Life is embarrassing.
I start in bed remembering death
Will happen.
Your then arms wrap me
Not now.
Yes, life is embarrassing.
I recall weeping
Like a girl on a bus full of strangers
Yes, tears are not public.
I’m imperfectly sorry
For our decomposure
And our messy, yes
Flailing.
Once I was little
And crammed cake onto my cheeks
Caring not.
Yes, sticky and caring
Not so child now
My messy face canvas
An emotional blotch.
In the imperfection of time
I find you a stranger
Tic, tic, yes
Yes, love
embarrassing.

The Stranger Fiction of Truth

Sally Smith got a six inch splinter in her leg from the cracked church pew. She hobbled out mid-service, followed by a nurse (who happened to be a parishioner) who tried to get it out, but could not. So an ambulance was called, to which Ms. Smith was escorted to the hospital and immediately operated upon. The church cannot afford a lawsuit.