the violence

I heard they have a plan in America

to replace all the human beings

with self-driving cars with neflix subscriptions

in a landscape of drive-thrus stretching from

sea to sea

the most efficient system ever

to eat their own people alive

“thank god for the river or those people from down south would overrun us”

she said, watching them pull three point turns

in the parking lot of homeland security

that night after we’d blown the rainbow bridge

cruelty has purpose

the violence just is

a live grenade in a hospital lobby

a ship on fire

all hands on deck

“I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy”

he said when I showed him where the swimming pool tiles had cut my face

like I was meant to thank him

that was the day we lost Bruce

what did you expect

a guy like him

getting lost in his own neighbourhood

though all the houses do kind of look the same

a wall of tanks

shedding sparks on the way to put out a fire that isn’t burning

(2023)

The Keeper

swearing cheapens everything

it fucking does

I went away to practice my elocution

why do you have to sexualize everything

you’re the one who insisted on the mountains

the snow like cream

the foothills dank with fir

sappy air that ignites when you snap your fingers

such danger

much fear

I went to practice elocution

the shape of words and

the morals

to every fairytale

eat the apple: sleep a thousand years unchanged

then fuck a prince

“so what’s the catch?”

(2023)

Have I written any poems this year?  I keep posting old poems to Insta because I’m lazy and I need content. I don’t write poetry with any diligence. Only when the words need to be poems and not my standard prose. 

But I went to an indie book fair yesterday.  Everyone in my town is a poet or knows a poet.  Pretty, pretty books everywhere. This is what I bought:

A photo of two books laying on a desk.  The book on the left is “Poetry is Queer” by the author Kirby. It has a light purple cover with a picture of a surreal phallic shape outlined by white buttons and filled in with googly eyes. This shape is passing through a circle of white buttons.  The book on the right is “Dream Rooms” by River Halen.  The cover is mainly black with bold white text and a colourful photo of hundreds of pieces of discarded chewing gum.  Both books are very, very queer.

#lifegoals

Deep in the woods in autumn, the black tree trunks crowd together. Ahead, brilliant white sunshine lights a clearing, making the last clinging yellow leaves glow

I am done with bettering myself

with perfecting this feast for worms

piloting my sinking ship

through seas of unexamined lives

if you want me

you will find me

muddy and ignorant

waist deep in the raspberries

seed-toothed

wild

(2022)

The Point

two bare-chested men sit in a landscape of dark rocks

tell me how it happened

we didn’t know, he said

we knew so much but this

we couldn’t know

we had such power

that to think of stopping was impossible

to speak it, death

this is what we left ourselves

this brotherhood

these stale defences

self-made

empty-handed

possessed of no inner life

partaking of no mystery

no raw internal knowings

the shapes of us proscribed

the tablets broken

the prophets’ voices stilled

our cells know nothing

born and borne in churning, soupy chaos

wisdom embodied new in every newborn mind

our cells know what we teach them

a limb, deleted

a kindness tasting more and more like fear

what’s the point of man?

what meaning in becoming so?

in mimicking the still point in this maelstrom

an embodied singularity

a fecund drop

erupting then forever calmed

what is a man?

what point

in ever

being

so?

Front Lines

rust-hued cedar sprigs on the charred remains of a fire

we were not afraid

we had done it before

collected the bones

renamed them

we were not afraid and we worked to be not afraid

and we thought

this is the only way

this is how we have always done it

passing the bones

renaming them

but this time they were our own

(2022)