#CanadianWriters
The water turns a long way down over the raw stone… ice crusts around it We walk separately along the hill to the open
More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, in… you, if possible through the skin like a cool plant’s tricks with ox…
‘They capped their heads with feat… their faces, wore their clothes ba… with torches through the midnight… and dragged the black man from his… to the jolting music of broken
You’re sad because you’re sad. It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s… Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeles… you need to sleep.
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size fo… blanks in speech, for those red he… shaped vacancies on the page that… like real hearts. Add lace
You, going along the path, mosquito-doped, with no moon, the… a single orange eye unable to see what is beyond the capsule of your dim
In the secular night you wander ar… alone in your house. It’s two-thir… Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story; you remember it from being sixteen…
In winter the beach is empty but south, so there is no snow. Empty can mean either peaceful or desolate. Two kinds of people walk here:
Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry the slick filling of aches and cav… you are not my doctor
Gone are the days when you could walk on water. When you could walk. The days are gone. Only one day remains,
Starspangled cowboy sauntering out of the almost– silly West, on your face a porcelain grin, tugging a papier-mache cactus
Snow packs the roadsides, sends du… onto the pavement, moves through vision like a wave or sand… The bus charges this winter, a whale or blunt gray
Whether is it possible to become l… Whether one tree looks like anothe… Whether there is water all around the edges or not. Whether there are edges or whether
This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible: the song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons
This is the lair of the landlady She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. the continuous henyard