Standing on the
platform at wing
listening to Leonard
Cohen and Old Crow’s
Crazy Eyes.
The sun rises
through a small hole
Clouds the forever
land sky scape.
my shoes no
longer fit
My blood is full
of wine.
O pilot please just
get us through
this hole of light
on time.
Each one,
ending with
Kafka’s fade,
lingers days
whispering deepening
peeling half-speed
to the raw
distracted
gaze.
Dusk
that lonely place
between darkness
light’s obscure
distant shroud
present like knowledge
breath just passed
step. waltz. decay.
Where home
becomes you
inside out
doors secure
open windows
welcoming stars
birdsong
banal exchange
then
rhythm come.
I attempt
loose calculations
what weight
two pears for breakfast?
then deem
icebreaking
a skill worth
acquiring.
When day seems dirty
look around for small
pleasure
Bliss
is
finding Hum.
Haida girl
eyes dance now
see
Raven circle Moon
between us
no longer strangers
unspoken message
yes I know
the Good Place, too.
Some try
to find
poet phrases
ex-pounding unique
big diction
coloured fiction
flash rhythm
funky creek
while naturals
glide on.
Birdsong
bugs flies
cigarette and spliff
butts
piss and blue sky
voices voices voices
wind rushes
sea rhythms
pages
hard dreams.
Stairway to sea
closed today
jumpers await
sundown shadows risk
stand on ledge
telepathic waves
wash away
walk away
another day.