Poetry Archives Bio
September 7, 2017
1:35 PM
passing

the rocks are far today
it is high tide
the moon will be revealed

suffering is finite
so my eyes are as dry as bone
when my namesake begs

to turn off the microwave
as he pantomimes spooning soup
that isn't there

when I call the hospital
the yellow moon
is shrouded in a veil

and when they answer
it is clear and bright
and beautiful

during the day
the sun is an angry
red ball of fire

at night
there is no moon
only smoke

1:08 AM
Every Night You Play

Because you have plucked out your feathers,
It's a little hard to see how you'd looked.

The leviathan blows two puffs;
The leftovers fall from the chiffonier.

Social media taunts me with time past and time present,
While I try hard not to think of the caveats of the body—

Generous with your mind, stingy with your breasts—
How our love lock hangs limp on a bridge in another town,

Never to be unlocked; I want to do to you
What winter does with the cherry trees.

August 27, 2017
2:14 PM
tony at the pawn store...

tony at the pawn store
speaks my tongue

he makes no bones
about the ring

with his clichéd loupe

he quietly looks
up the price of white gold


tony weighs it
"eighty bucks  he says

I nod my OK

we bargain a little
for the watch

I say one hundred
with room to haggle


tony fills out a form

I watch the cabinets
dated mementos perplexed

the dusty store
is stuffy and hot

I mention this


tony says  "tell me about it
we laugh

as I leave
he shouts after me

"good luck with the next!

August 22, 2017
2:09 AM
meticulous and necessarily comprehensive
Inspired by Rod Moody-Corbett

the past is alive
and I need to piss

rednecks at an airshow
stalker at the orpheum

adiabatic obduction
bluegreen or winedark

kingston or kensington
¿can I get a receipt


twenty thousand snips
(bit on the nose

I've had six gee and tees
and I'm still not there

but my head might just
head might adjust

is my symmetry any good
(it never ends


he shits  he scars
goooooooooooooooal

the morality of
consuming thought

overheard  (while I
cringe and look off

i want to pulp his face
into punch


these eight clear ones go
really well with the pain

a shock of hair
(as if hair could cause shock

the fall and rise of
mackenzie king in the window

we got along well
safe as houses on fire


she wanted the sky to mirror
my fear of the sea

she went somewhere
you can call someone over

garçon
unironically

every word  a little between
a caress and a growl


meanwhile here  fools gaze
shoebox apocalypse

i keep hoping their eyes
melt out their heads

but it passes  and
in skunked night air

i forgive them
and order another

August 9, 2017
4:22 PM
Primary Catalogue of the Order of Delectation

This is my translation of 「快事主目錄」by 趙元任 [Yuen Ren Chao]. I am thankful to Dr. Derek Choy for his expertise in the finer points of the Chinese language.

Whosoever reckons and enumerates the patterning that proceeds from these elemental items of the "Primary Catalogue," shall know the true purport of beatitude and enchantment and must proceed to merge his understanding with the Order of Delectation.


Primary Catalogue of the Order of Delectation
  • Sunshine
  • Sun lamps
  • The intersection of the main thoroughfare with the second-oldest street
  • Any road of sufficient length
  • Long travels at night
  • Long travels far away from here
  • Streetlamps that shine bright
  • Streetlamps that shine yellow
  • A productive day at work
  • A counterproductive day at nothing
  • Words that fit together like beads on a wire
  • Words that don't fit together like brain tissue and cotton wool
  • Long walks on familiar paths
  • Long walks to nowhere
  • Music that speaks of sorrow
  • The absence of sound in this register
  • Kind, clean animals
  • Kind-looking stuffed animals
  • Total chaos and destruction
  • Excessive moisture pulled down by gravity to its inevitable conclusion
  • Rhythmic cadences
  • Evergreens
  • Consistency
  • Semblance of consistency
  • Horizon lines
  • Bright primary colours
  • Fire
  • The moment between wakefulness and sleep
August 8, 2017
11:48 PM
Cappelbaum Gets a Divorce

"can I have your name
for the cup?
asks the perky barista

"shylock  mouths Cappelbaum
"never mind the bollocks
as he sips his

triple
        venti
                caramel macchiato


Cappelbaum wanders (wonders
at the optimistic brutalism
that surrounds him

two girls gallop past
at breakneck speed  they shout
  "itsfreecoverforthenexttwominutes!

hardly are those words out
that bill nye steps out of the shadows
all spinning electrons and hasheesh


then  thinks Cappelbaum
must the Jew be 
                        merciful

the foregoing reminds him of
a pedant (pendant in the shape of
a chevron

a nail  rusted white
or the long slender leg
of a shroom


Cappelbaum's wife affirms
in her sleep  "uh huh
and then turns around

   there was once a girl  jenny port'ead
   who wouldn't sign lines that were dotted


   who are you talking to?

at least I didn't fall
from the sixteenth floor
chasing a ball  thinks Cappelbaum


as he's overtaken
by a severe regiment
of the royal canadian mounted whatever

the sergeant major
leads the procession
his face bebarnacl'd

he reminds Cappelbaum of
the white trash who present each other
smirnoff ice on a bended knee


who wax their womb brooms
and can't wait for patch 2.0
to come out for their tweeds

who pray in private life
(just as long as there's vin
to go with the pain

  she'd bargained full force 'til she got her divorce
  and she exited it all unspotted


 "sorry to bother you!


Cappelbaum interrupts
a meditating Chinese
beside the seaside trail

 "I just needed to touch this tree
Cappelbaum thinks  would a comma here 
make it worse, or much worse?

in the photograph
of his foot's torn integument
whorls recede into flesh


I am not a tree
decides Cappelbaum
looking up at the muscled bros

and their music boxes
he imagines picking a fight
with one  then backing off

Cappelbaum has
the perfect retort
he will never use


"you'd better not  he'd say
       with a disarming smile
   "first put on a few pounds

August 4, 2017
7:49 AM
story of my life
To Rod Moody-Corbett

the sun
is an orange ball
obscured by suspended particulate

you were in my dream last night
but I can't remember
the plot

it was supposed to be hot
but the fires up north
blotted out the sky

so every day I
wake up lighter and lighter
as my soul clarifies

just like fat in soup

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