morning haiku

Your breath calls the Sun
as dew drops on floating grass
sing to the heavens

I was...

I was thrown from the roof by love
Pushed out the window
Stabbed in my sleep

I was suffocated in the midst of love
Stained pillow held tight against my cheek
Infinite kiss on these dark
breathless lips

Out of the darkness I remember
Resounding sweetness I remember

For love has slain me a thousand times
And a thousand times again
Broken, beaten, and burned- yes
The last of my body consumed
As I cry out it's name

It's the sound of my own voice
The taste of my blood
That wills me ready to believe
Ready to die again
for love

Summer rain

Summer rain
Dark drops falling
On a lush green of ruination.
Killer tomatoes lie in wait,
Heaving under a shadow of epic proportions.
I'm afraid to go out there at midnight,
To this jungle of my own making,
I can only stand back and watch
While the waters rise

Apocalyptically.

Grandfather

I remember your face,
Your reflection burnt into my skin,
My blood teems with memories,
They remain silent until they hear your voice.

I will listen more often.

I will remember to look in the mirror.

I write

I write always with some reluctance...
Each word an unwitting guest,
Plucked from the crowd
To deliver
The expected
Punchline.
Glaring spotlight
Butt of joke.

Those distant thoughts stand alone,
Naked, over-exposed,
Lacking the depth
And shadow
Of my consciousness.

Parkdale


Street.
Car.
Sunlight reflecting off elementary school windows.
Dog shit.
Greasy glass case holding the Virgin Mary.
Crumpled potato chip bag.
Roses blooming their last.
Brothers drinking Heineken outside the autobody shop.
Traffic light.
Left turn.
Graffiti in the underpass.
Pigeons making amends.
Sweaty men wrestling at the dojo in white uniforms and black belts.
Dirty black gum pounded flat into the sidewalk.
Pop stains.
Pumpkins.
Spit.
Waiting for a fix by the coffee shop.
Newspapered windows.
Rockabilly from the back.
Liming at the roti shop.
Hairdressers on the steps smoking cigarettes.
Curry.
Piss.
Full moon.
No wind.

on my way

I walked past a dead racoon,
lying stiff and bloated in the street.
It faced the curb,
Nestled into the wet concrete,
As rainwater
Rushed past
Its body.