motel sign
blistering it’s paint in sun
its metal frame in rain,
proclaiming ammenity
of CoLoR television
each letter demonstrating
to a black and white
highway dotted lines
unstopping world

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?

am I blue?

shower mist, near steam
onto my morning cold fist
drips from it chilled
as if in each digit
were refrigerant
coiled but not
striking.

(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

(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.