Doppler

Now, there's no reason these nights can't
   dissemble our daytime woes.
With bottles uncorked, we'll paint
   friendly faces on daylight foes

              The ground's not shaking.
              Your breath's just ragged.
              Faces shine and cities glow...

but, come sunrise, we're flying blind,
   while keeping our heads low.

Still I remember the time that
   we chucked that radio
from that rooftop sinking to
   street level, speakers played Manilow

              Transistors scattered
              Our footsteps clattered
              Down the fire escape we'd go

laughing hard, police up in arms
   alleyways lead us home.

                    We wanted
                     to up and fucking leave

                    But we're tethered
                    to this place by our heartstrings

                    So we're always
                    celebrating our defeats

                    We wanted
                     to up and fucking leave

I'm off and running in circles
   around my own lasting fears
You're off the wagon and just
   rolling dice hung on rearview mirrors

            We're contemplating
             on relocating
             back to those familiar years

but sunrise comes, we're twiddling thumbs
   and hoping stormclouds clear.

Valued Subscribers

Signals get mixed up
                    we're broadcasting bullshit
I'll shout 'til my mouth's dry
                    you'll spit like a dragon
                the summers all static, now--
              I'll wait for the season
                to switch over channels
               for less interference.
                        On mute.

Bracing our brains
                               for primetime quakes
Kill off a day
                              trapped in escapes

The fate of the union,
                        the sake of my habits,
Estate of illusions
                     auctioned off from your pulpit
                   I'll shovel the static 'til
                   the street's within reaching.
                   Now follow new channels
                   with buzzing devotion
                           switched off.

Nice One, Shyamalan

It's damn obscene, these best-laid plans
     of mice, of boys, of knuckleballers--
     world-weary one-trick cowards
     plotting courses into safety,
     taking wrong turns on the way

Now I...? I was never good with signs
     green and white--bad with directions.

I'm the walking ghost of a better me
And the guy I used to be and me,
                                      we don't speak.
                      Estranged.
             Roll through each day
             horizon's far from home.

Night blacks out gunmetal grey,
grey-brown slush fills city streets
and asphalt colored X's fill
our blue and coffee eyes
Fade out                          Fall back.
               blizards come
          Ride out the margins
static clouds fill white-out skies
Skies we grasp for
                           skies we shy from.

lofty climb, now plummet earthward
                       So
         these muddy footprints
         trace out the path I took.

            "What a twist!"
                 Yeah.
                  Shit.

A Sleeper's Cell

It was colder weather, when I left
Still winter in the bottom drawer
Photographs and birthday cards--
  humming hard, December streetlights
  still laughing at chilly footsteps
             one-two
             one-two
          No three-four

Now wake up August heat undressed
Yeah, wake up next to skeletons
   who "think that we should just be friends."
And--anyway--the bedroom's small
   barely bigger than a closet

Fall asleep in sheets of sweat
claw for the ceiling
          dreaming heavy
Awake. Wet pillow.
     Tousled hair at 4 a.m.
And, for my part, the ceiling clawmarks
soak my dreams up, snow in sheet rock
      spells your name
(I should prob'ly wash my sheets)

Though I'm often soused on beer,
When Autumn comes, I clearly hear, through crisping air,
   their wilting voices hailing
          while I try to soothe the
          drowsy year

But it's still cold and I'm still here
though "here" has moved
and every year is heating
so, I repeat, repeat, repeat

"What starts September
   dies November
February fucking hurts
  the same way as July."

The bottom drawer's still cased in winter
Skeletons still claw the doors
I sweat. I shiver.
FUCK I miss you...
Hope you're living. Me? I'm aging
Faster than I was before.

Funny What Years & Drinks Can Do To a Body

Triangulate on northern skies
pinned positions. Drawing lines
until the 106 meets up with the 45
             On a hot night,
   I might keep this smile alive
long enough to trace the alleys,
salt the streets with summer sighs

It was night time
And the sky took a bite--
drank our blood, we drained our pints
           and we set the world to rights
Switched to whiskey--
         same color as your eyes.
   You said mine looked sad, but you told me they were nice

Now I want you to know I once had something to say
on the tip of my tongue
             but it's late and I have aged.
                So get walking...
And I guess I'll do the same.
Meet up in the middle, in the Fall, some other day.

Subduction Values

Buzzing brains. Familiar clots,
I'll slur my way through second thoughts
blot out doubts with distilled friendships
          roll tonight into tomorrow's
           bottled sleep

Counting sheep until the ground leaps up
           to kiss these puckered features,
I'll appease habit with sacrificial dreams.

Face lowered
                                      head under-
neath; the miles fold into a hood.
Long-distance.
                                     Damn tired.
      of bleeding small amounts for greater good.

Quaking hands. Familiar shakes,
Five years remembered--fish for dates
Blurring hands held, smudging smiles
               cloud last night under today's
               soaked, waking sleep

Counting months until a year is up
      then fade out of the foreground
and appeal for a new picture to see

Hands folded
                                         in pockets
I'm southbound. Quench my thirst. Walk back home
Long distance
                                          still learning
what it's like to face a year out here alone.

Re: Bells, My Note

Gertrude, Stradbrook, River and Roslyn,
off of McMillan, my thoughts froze on Osborne
A drive through the village on slippery streets
Bought records, drained pints
                        swallowed down summer nights
Back home in Wyoming--think I'll be fine
                         'til some night, filled to gills
                          trip through streets with a stranger
                          and sing "One Great City"
                          through swollen closed throat

And I remember...

Confusion Corner, commuting through cold streets
Watched you drive as the daylight died
I narrow my Focus,
                                     you eased into traffic
The Assiniboine ran and was watched by Riel

January.
Johnson's Terminal.
London Fogs.
Took Yellow Dogs for long walks
and Exchanged now for then.

 Snow up to my hips
Spent a night at St. Boniface
We cased a cathedral, your friends seemed to like me.

Lines ran from reserves, over oceans and borders.
Your hair ran down shoulders, brown waves for a blanket.

Winterpeg, Manitscoldout
Portage & Main
Shivering, smiling
at a Tavern Uniting with friends,
'til we took the King's Head...
We took the King's Head.
Long live the king.

January.
Magic Thailand.
Curry soup, curried thoughts thawing,
melting, falling from pickled brains,
                      through lips chapping

Form a Perimeter
Frame a city
Bullseye, center, a Gold gilded Boy
he leans into sky, as they sing, as I hear.
The road North Ended--November, it was.
I think, one year prior, in Robin's Donuts
on hinges that sighed metallic,
I caught your eyes--organic, unplanned--
               through fog frosting lenses
Caught them, held on
               Held your deep brown
               In my gunmetal blue

Seasons will chase--haste to follow more seasons
White streaks to green
and the Red River runs.
When they score at the ballpark,
"Go Goldeyes!" the cheer sounds
Cheer. Cheer!
The Guess Who still suck,
but the Jets completed their round trip
"Go, Jets, go!" so the cheer goes.
"Cheers!" Cheers like bells.
             Bells
           Pealing
Peeling like your sunburnt back
            Bells
          Ringing
           Striking
Bells singing long
Bells sounding loudly from Grace Bible Church
  baptizing Baltimore as it kisses Osborne

Bells ringing. Round sounds.
Round rings for fingertips touching
Bells
Round sounds that hang on my neck
and sing me to sleep every night--
remind me how badly you wanted those bells
                I denied you.

They sing "Left and Leaving"
             and show me old scars
          they ring and peal and strike
                         and sing
                         unending.

I remember April of 2008
Dropping my toque in the mud-and-slush street
            We took Pembina Highway
              Ate Vietnamese.

I remember...

Confusion Corner,
Commuting through cold streets,
Watching you drive as the daylight died
In your blue '02 Focus
Ease us back into traffic,
The Assiniboine River.
And Louis Riel.

So tell me...

Comment-allez vous, ce soir?
Je ne suis pas comme ci, comme ça.