more than just a new year.
my E l e c t r o n i
circling; squirreling; singing and
from firewalls to gare centrale; from closing companies,
beyond the sea, beyond belief, because of you.
how much of someone can you take with you
how much of the high; how much of the low;
connections causing connectivity
whirling and swirling; downwards and then up again
life taking me in it's stride;
it is dreaming week - running through
airports on moving conveyor belts; waking up exhausted,
pushing this little body past limits big and small
poots is treading water today; trembling hands, she knew
and what is a normal life
definitions become ... elusive...
and glen campbell sings my life ...
need a hot bath... will deal with life later.
a symphony in my head
and then a standing ovation
i dreamt a musical opera
last night, my sleeping brain invented it, lyrics and all!
and a huge standing ovation.
it was even funny.
spring has sprung
let's write while the striking is hot;
silhouettes of coolbrook
shape the easterly morning sky, the dog people are awake
the world, overnight, moved
from a shocked state of grey, to a distinct shade of moss
as heat swaths our city like it's never done before.
and rarely, gifting itself to
the smells of an earliest spring thaw bring me back to places
spring has sprung
How long can i remain
As I drag those around
me through my freedom; piercing their realities with a
stick; balloons pop around me, one by one
Am I allowed to burst
Is it possible to go
from parc avenue to parc avenue and then back again?
Racking up people
morning mood of coffee and sisters
sleeping in my coat was a first
rental property takes on another meaning when one is
large cheques disappear from the mail slot, like food for
the prisoner, or a prospect to the whore: (Salier)
or, like cilantro for the rats
alcohol and deep sleep don't mesh in poots world; or body;
waking up with primordial thoughts, and when morning has
broken again, all is well.
speaking of morning being broken;
if i take in all around me, encompass it and try to re play
it, i get a narrative almost too simple to comprehend,
primordial and daunting, rare, not like steak, but like
how many simple pleasures make up a life?
hang on poots, hang on for your life.
the sky's not high enough; the
well not deep enough;
a thing so vast; yet precise, shared, but solitary, confined,
and expansive at once.
it's behind me, and in front of
me, it pulls me up, and downward. it defines me, it traps me.
calling me, as i've never been called before.
touching me, as though i've never been touched.
when i woke up this morning;
a dream was on my mind
a lofty dream of blue skies
and a piece of mind
it's an extra day, poots,
an extra smile
it's an email you didn't get yesterday
it's a memo about your life
make sure you read it this time.
let's wait til Christmas