Don’t
give me flak
do you see
a jacket
on me? Don’t
baby me
no bassinet
around my
hips
no beauty mark
no droll painted pouty lips.
just don’t.

talk and pretend
we are friends.
see how that might
just work?

How do you like them spuds?

(untitled as of yet)

all of god’s plans
sprung to life here in PEI

as an egg tempura painting
the bell dome of blue lacquer
touching the red rim of sand/sea

I become as a pollen grain
on a carpet of white

potato blossoms
up to the rolling coast
temptation to lie
make snow angels

healing in the destruction
of broken stems

seeping leaves
petals thrashed

to drift to the
wet cheek

Shall we shortly

(a bit of silliness really)

Shall we shortly
traipse mad in a zigzag smear?
Squint, there’s the shape of me
– can we make out in the shadowy shallows
this riparian ripe life smelling of the mire
ferns wriggle out of? Spy me. Everyone else
does, doze among those weeping willow shadows
half shore, half unsure, lolling half in tepid water
turning slimy where freshwater snails slide up
the juncture between the being and the reflection
sediment stirred by a stone thrown away
with a shrug.

entering a Moment

entering a Moment

words seem to gather the sense that they
like children are no longer central
to this conversation.

They slip away to peer around
corners at our making straight-backed make believe
subjects, civility, sensible, ostensibly, sensibilllblillbly,
pardonable giggled, gardenable, wha –

what was I saying, the swung bar codes
of my eyelashes, flashes of your eyes
interfere with my processing

“Just talk I don’t care what” –
the sound of your voice, fragrance from your hair
every millimeter breath nearer is all I can be aware of
beyond this dizzying epicentre spinning
with that glance

desire? promise? invitation? awareness? possibility? need?
to read in depth at length unvocalized subtexts,
we are mercifully deaf and blind to audible meanings,

you are capable of intuiting my braille tongue,
how it is punched boldface.
you will trace a study of my
goosebumps to tastebuds
to flat flushed flares of heat.
Your breath probes open intents,

tense, intense,
before my lips can close over the polite
grooves of leaden cliches, clattering,
scattering
they crunch under our feet as we stumble
backwards into walls, falling walls
no words left to fail us, we fall

floorward,
involuntary yesses
overcome
those no’s’
those small noises
meek and quieted that go off on tiptoes
leaving us alone with each other to throw
off the feeble and absurd constructions
of these clothes and these words.

walking until shoes squish

they fall together, rain and night
both warm as mother’s kisses on crown
protective, solid, grounded and safe
people give themelves over to rain
those that fear have already scurried
their hard shells of umbrellas clamped
swifter and harder than night, rain
both amplified by the contrast
of headlights. both change the pace
of footsteps to night slow for those
who remain out here, themselves given over
to the greater later, touching weather