Gone for Less

his heart on a shelf, no sticker
indicating selling price

reflected in a shop window:
little-girl eyes swimming, a
tongue licking lips, finger twisting
hair against a fevered face:
can I, can I, huh?

this ain't no puppy,
no doll-faced toy, it's really
a heart, thick, thumping
twisting on display

deep inside her pockets
there's melted chocolate,
a few songs, bath salts,
lavender soap,
poems scribbled beneath the last full moon

she stares at what she wants
in the window,
her fingers play with what she has
to give, the things inside that
might or might not
be enough to buy
this heart on the shelf
in this window

she hears a voice that tells her
it could be gone for less
so she walks in the door
and she pays with a smile, a gentle kiss
to this heart as it's lifted off the shelf
and placed into her hand

The Writer

he writes:
there have always been voices
in my head -- they
speak of wonder, promise heat

he writes:
I've kept this secret in my head
because escape would be inevitable
if I opened my mouth
and spoke this truth

he stares at me
I am naked under the sheets

he cries

I am forbidden to touch
he pays me only
to get undressed, lie in his bed
and read his words

Turning

grown women should be forbidden
this ownership of mirrors
for they tell stories
that never ring true

grey hair screams
stressful tribulation
crinkled skin weeps
notes of pain

step away, turn back from this reflection
of years that have passed in a blink
smile, turn up the volume
scare your son, scare your daughter
in our dreams, we can live our misbehaviour

leave this fear behind, dance
close your eyes, laugh
angst is all that's stopping us
from reaching those great heights

everything looks perfect from far away

step away, turn back from pointless introspection
time ticks and the mirror don't care

A Set of Instructions for Making Something

she is a cold hand down your shirt
surprising your sleeping skin
chill on heat stirring into your gut

she is a spoon, spinning,
churning up lost memories
writing a new recipe of possibilities

odd how you have forgotten this
how strangers can sometimes hear your voice
gaze wonderingly into your eyes
recognize the things inside of you
that you thought you'd successfully hidden

succumb to recognition, allow it to create surprise
relish the rush that travels through belly to crotch
listen to your mind tick, count the ways moments have
of progressing from banality to sharpness
smell the new spice rising from a stranger who is

a cold hand down your shirt
surprising your sleeping skin
chill on heat stirring into your gut

she is a spoon, spinning,
churning up lost memories
writing a new recipe of possibilities

eat this meal, she says, placing it at your feet
taste tomorrow

Unfledged

etched into the lines of his calloused palms
are invisible traces of an uncontrollable hatred
look closely at these hands; long ago
they lost the ability to touch and feel.

sit across from this man, my father
he once loved a woman, took her in his car,
fucked her in the garden, the kitchen, on the front porch steps
and they had four children

stare into these dulled eyes of a man who tried
to control and organize the world into something
he might understand, that could bring him peace
when inside of him, all was chaotic madness

the newspapers blamed the heat and the alcohol
on that morning after he snapped and made me
an orphan, an only child, a bitter shell of
what I might have been

twenty four years later, the hands you see here,
his white prison hands reaching out to apologize
to me and my dead brother, murdered sisters, strangled mother
still do not know how to touch or feel

forgive me, he whispers and I stare at
the lines on his palms, seeing their blood, hearing
their screams and I stand, turn my back and
walk away to where I might finally forget

Pavement Cracks

everything in town is broken
somebody pulled the tower down
all transmission has stopped

police guard the intersection
directing traffic
'cause the lights went out and
no one remembers how to wait their turn

kids walk ten miles to school in the pouring rain
since rust took the buses

no more books in the library
Murphy's Bar ran dry
gas pumps burp air and toxic fumes
lightning hit the church steeple and
burned God to the ground

some blame anarchists
some blame terrorists
some blame immigrants

I stand in silence on Main Street
staring into this asphalt abyss
pondering sins of omission
waiting for morning

it takes forever

One Night in September

Dylan walks to the centre line
on a darkened street at three a.m.

insects flutter under harsh street lights
someone slams a door
a baby cries and dust drifts silently
painting pools of grey on black

Dylan's just a boy but he feels like Methuselah
waiting for death that will not punch in

planes crashed today and buildings fell
his parents have not come home
he kneels on the road, looks up into sky
filled with ash and past and terror

he screams and slaps his palms on the pavement
rages against what he cannot understand
and a car pulls up slowly behind him

Dylan feels the hand before it touches
stares into watery blue eyes

you can't stay here, son
the old man whispers
can't watch another one die

come with me, we'll grab a coffee ...

years later, the pain receded, the images
blurred by fresh sunshine and new smiles,
what Dylan chooses to remember are
the last few words his rescuer spoke
before taking him back home:

there's always more, my boy,
when you have nothing

Hunger

it started with breakfast in bed
sourdough, freshly toasted, steaming yeast
topped with spring sweet strawberry

moving on, we went deeper
with lunch on the patio, BBQ-burnt burgers
dripping mustard on the grass

sundown required chilled Chablis,
elegant water crackers, topped with
slivers of pungent Stilton

the day closed with our tongues
licking salty flesh, fingers softly caressing
bellies full of passion

The Geometry of Triangles

PART 1

spellbound
I watch this man
juggle ... he tosses words
high and wide

love      adore      forever

oh
so
carefully
he balances the weight
of one woman
against others

yes, he has his reasons
taken separately
they all make sense

but I cannot determine
if I have a place
in this triangle

am I the peak?
or do I hold down one corner?

I watch him
juggle
and wait to see
who will be the first
to fall

PART 2

with a sharp needle
I draw blood on his hip
trace a shallow polygon

I know the rules:
there are six kinds of triangles
and before morning
his skin will be tattooed
obtuse, acute, scalene,
isosceles, equilateral and right

over coffee, we will discuss
various angles
and degrees of desire

PART 3

despite evidence to the contrary
I do not believe in the existence
of a perfect rational triangle

perhaps in empty, unfeeling space
one could believe in this geometry
but when one loves

it is pointless

The Dress

crinkled red
lace high at neck and cuffs
buttoned down the front
hemmed just above her knees

apples, he said
touching her breast
smiling into a kiss that
tasted of sake

that night, red
became her favourite colour

goodbye, he said
turning into the night
with a frown that
smelled of regret

that night, black
became her only friend

miles later
eons past love
the dress lies forgotten
wrinkled red in a box

when she hears he is dead
she finds the dress
clips a square of fabric
travels to stand beside his box

between his cold fingers
she slowly tucks red cloth
reminds him of spent passion
moments shared and lost

that night, red
is the colour of forgiving

Intelligence of the Hunted

The doe stood out there
a silhouette on the Canadian shield
planted on mid-winter frozen rock, she
sniffed the frosty breezes

she could smell your lust

you had come to me that afternoon
waving the government license to kill
stomping cold snow from your Kodiaks
in front of our dying fire

I watched as you cleaned, caressed, crooned to your gun

when had pursuit become a sacrament?

with binoculars, I tracked your moves
followed the chase of preyed and hungered upon
saw you stop
stilled, blurred like an old photograph
your weapon mounted on your body

I cried when your bullet felled her
she kneeled
her pain forcing a scream from me
her eyes reflected what had been happening
in our bed at night
when you tried to raise heat
in me

I wondered if you would shoot me too
if they issued permits for that

Resolution

here are the handcuffs
there is the chair

sit on the floor, there's a good girl

[metallic click, wood cool on skin
and bone]

here is the problem
there has been talk around town

don't argue with me, I know

[mouth opens, then closes fishlike
fighting for air]

here is where you belong
there will be no more ...

you are mine

[thinking: what language is this?
feeling: what?? what???]

we will wait together until
there has been a confession

tell me why and tell me who

[beer cap twists, air escapes,
face leans in and whispers]

here ... take a swig
there's more in the fridge

we can sit here
for as long as it takes

This is What Happens When That Happens

I.

it
was
just one
more phone call
answered that morning
just another voice, not for me
I
was
the boss'
assistant
doing the job well
smiling, eager, oh so helpful

those
words
you spoke
went sideways
became important
to everything that happened next

II.

There was a girl here this morning. Knocking, peeking through the living room window, smearing the glass with her fingertips, shielding her eyes, staring, tapping, yelling my name. How does she remember my name? I don't remember my name. Why was she here?

III.

hold
on
watch your ...
do you know
who I am? take my
hand, get in the car, I will drive

IV.

Yesterday, there was wine with lunch. There are a few bottles left in the basement. Good wine, that. And I had cheese. It tasted ...

It tasted ...

Yesterday, apples landed on the roof. I heard them begin to fall. Yes, I heard them fall. But I don't know where they went. They must have rolled ... have you seen the apples?

Today, a girl knocked on the door.

V.

your
eyes
open
look at me
we were lovers once
it was your voice that made me fall

VI.

Sometimes, I know ... roll down the window. Oh, the air. Drive to the ocean. There are whales.

We drank sake ... small, warm, white bowls that you held so carefully while I poured ... the first night, yes? It was winter. You were my Christmas.

VII.

all
we
tasted
bending in
celebration of
spirits saved from drowning themselves
in
muck
washed
downhill by
thoughtless choices made
before we ever spoke and knew
sand
was
spilling
faster than
either of us could
make excuses for where we were

VIII.

It doesn't matter. The fish still swim and the people walk past each other saying nothing. It all ends. We forget so much.

I remember being a coward. It rained and I wasn't ready.

IX.

there
are
two ways
to see this:
everybody wants
a happy ending, die sleeping
warm
safe
dreaming
of sex with
centrefold beauties
or you can read the last chapter
of
this
story
we started
writing in hotel
beds, telling each other sad tales
of
where
we'd been
before tumbling
gratefully into each other

X.

You were the wind. Spinning through my dusty head, clearing corners where I could breathe without choking.

Walk with me. I see the whales.

XI.

on
this
cold beach
dig your toes
into the sand, mark
our last journey with conviction
know
love
grows once
only truly once
and we will end it together

XII.

Let me unbutton you. Those breasts ... yes ... apples. That's why I hear them ...

Every time you answered the phone, it was ... operatic. Secretaries aren't supposed to be intriguing. I had a wife. Kids.

I am old. I have forgotten so much.

XIII.

sun
shines
your voice
echoes hot
tracing down my skin
this is why I haven't slept since
word
came
that you
were losing the plot
let's swim until we've written the
end
rest
content
floating in
our salted wounds, the
whales singing deep wordless goodbyes

XIV.

Growling, I came into you and we rolled, sated, sweating into sheets stiff with starch. Was it yesterday?

I wasn't looking for you or love or someone to show me my soul. Whatever I said to you on the phone, it wasn't memorable. It wasn't important.

Is it raining? I can't breathe. All I can taste is ... apples and ... salt.