Filed under: Poetry
the golden hour – coursing cloudless skies
if you lean back just enough you can feel derailed
and trackless.
Strips of sun flicker over baseball caps and unhid hairs
softer when licked in light
and playing off the dropped consonants of a Canadian dialectic
- dialogic
the dulled logic of tongues worked hard of their edges
hewn to speak to anyone, uninhibited-like
Begin with obituaries, eeking into missing persons, misgivings,
to unwanted disapproval of the once-had knowns
(she wanted me to watch her kids, watch em all day and I don’t know what she was doin – some said they saw her, you know, like with some guys, men
keeping busy? keeping busy keeping busy
- the work, and lilting tones of subtle gratefulness, having found the fulcrum of a balanced life
(how much you work? bout 3 days, few hours each sluuuuurchh
yeah I just took a week off for mah back, coulda taken 2 but I wanted to get back,
yeh know, coulda taken 2
evrybody counts.
go to the mall
- private spaces masked as public meeting place
in all sorts of fluorescence
vigorously sucking his slushy
an acid haze of colour
(why haven’t ya been to the mall lately? where ya been where ya been where
ya
been?
slipped days and attentions wander
in between these system cracks we look out of one another
and negate the stance of Other
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