Smokestacks

To feel no panic at the thought
To feel only pride in the action

Fish once swam,
Swam through sapphire seas,
Breeding in instinctual rhythm
From crystal canyon fingertips
To coral nested ventricles,
As it stands we as humans
Were once tropical rain-forests,
We were once oceans
Teeming with spawn and opportunities
To be innocent

We have forgotten

the oceans are on fire

Rebuild and repair
World of residence concrete pledged,
Priorities misspoken
Flesh broken into
Lead plumbing inserted
Brick and mortar replaced beauty and effervescence

Succumbing to an illness; cherished children of us
We are sick and dying and we don’t know why
Why love feels this way these days

the oceans are on fire
the oceans are on fire

An illness cherished; children of us,
We are sick and dying

Superior’s Frisco

Hogsback Mountain- a love story:

Staircases of roots tangled together
Crawling deeper into earth
And down into my heart,

Nests perched above
Gold glows abundant with eagle eggs
With wings and raptor beaks
These children are my own,

Barefoot it’s been awhile,
Hasn’t it? A cologne of spring-
Fed trickling streams tickle my senses,
Flames flick up towards stained glass windows,
Birch pine cedar
Depicting scenes of solemn reverie,
Eager to portray our history,
Present these quiet kisses of ours
In vague images to the world are you
Bragging? Almost,

Made it to peak shirtless
Saw again the naked prosperity of our relationship,
Distance can’t impede what is meant to be-

The consummation of one’s soul
Through great granite skyscrapers
Soft water city nestled in-between fractures interlocking,
To grow is to erode
Break down skin to dirt
Sprout ferns and somehow,

I’ve never felt more human

Do you remember two summers ago-
The first time we met?
I ran straight to summit
Smoking Nightcap in a Prebem Holm freehand,
Not once letting ember rest
I read Kerouac to you
Aloud so all surrounding above and below
Could hear,

Oh,
How far we have come,
How far we have come

Not Far From Maplewood

There were those trees in your backyard
Wild cedar growing in the gully
Near your woodshed basking in decrepit beauty
Situated above as if being the river’s shepherd

After we discovered that tea
Was literally just plants and hot water

Those cedar trees glowed silky
Smooth a hypnotic amber- such honey slipped
So efficiently down our throats coated
Our intestines and every breath
We spoke

The colour of those years
Between ten and seventeen
Was cedar’s milk

Crafting bows from broken boughs,
Using those freshest of buds as crow’s
Nest, survey flood basin’s reign
Blueprints written in sand script
Loamy soil serving as scroll,
We would attack at noon
And be back before dinner,

Then football season came
And those trees illuminated
In Autumn’s adolescent snow
Caught more passes than your father did

And every Spring
When those rusty red braids of hair
Caught fire releasing forth a flurry
Of gold we’d stand in awe,
Wondering where their children would land
And if we’d ever
Get the chance to meet them

As We Are Simply Scar Tissue

Bruises shaded deep
Berry blue, flax vermilion and setting-sangria-washed-aglow
Imprinted upon bare-feet walking
Cautiously then erratic
To catch a frisbee or for just,
The joy of moving faster through space
Gliding like a swallow swift
Through softened saccharine air
Swooping gracefully
Grass bearing weight graciously upon returning to Earth

Battered soles of joy bring forth a topography map
And in an instant of rest
Wandering cognizance dives forward
Returning to pockmark lakes
Sibylline breath in colour
Seeing saturation succumb to form,
With two raspy hands on speculum shoals
Pine needles drifting sweetly so, a scroll written
A diary entry to a body ever shifting
Remember, for it’s best that I disappear for now

Blinded by wanderlust
Where else are we to go but deeper?
Unwrap the bow-tied gift of injury
Allow ourselves to feel and bleed beneath
Truest incendiaries

Sharing laughs and lack of oxygen
Looking at
The collateral each person
Seeing their own vision
Of a past kept underneath ruptured skin
What is suffering if not a kaleidoscope of memory?

Red

There was no where to run so we wept,
As thunder came a freight train
On this crystal clear day we wept
So softly, lightening struck
Water erupted drenched were you,
Drenched was I,
In what colour I have forced
To the back of my mind, I cannot remember
The colour of the water, I have tried so hard to forget

So alone we stood facing one another
A clearing here in this forest of willow
And cedar but mostly in this forest
We were surrounded by the peeling white leather
Of Betula papyrifera,

Our eyes met
Cerulean oceans of German descent,
Black- a beautiful Autumn night of genus Sciurus
And we wept in a mutual moment of understanding,

First silence-a lifetime it felt
As though we had a formed a lasting friendship
Entirely separate from this reality
Then thunder and rain, oh flood waters
I screamed “Where’s Noah’s Arc?” I screamed
But there was no boat
For there was no savior
For I had pulled the trigger
For I can still remember that feeling
As my throat was ripped open and stuffed like a teddy bear

Father smiled,
Yelled “Congratulations!”
As his child drowned
No more than twenty meters away

 

Driftwood Amongst an Open Field

Ardor or Orphic
What wheat has become
A blanket for a beating heart?
Not rushed but suddenly
Sewn in this

Sweet cacophony of impertinent rhythm

What roses, mad and pure,
In mid-efflorescence hide playfully
Amongst flax-strung tongue figurines such as these?
Effort wrought brought stars to skin
A celestial proposition in Morse Code
Blinking with summer’s language
Batting eyelashes light up saccharine
Skies of humid veneration

And the gardens before us,
In all their fervor
Cast heat deep into Evening’s cerulean ocean
And the gardens before us,
In all their fervor
Cast heat deep into Evening’s cerulean ocean,

And our bodies reflexive
Rippled and dissipated in a breeze
Of delicate liqueur almost as if
We were nothing at all all along

An Uncertainty of Importance

Pine pitch feet dangle

Splash of water proving
Only that this is where I am
That I can distinguish between hot and cold
And this water is black tea
Floral bouquet basking in a setting sun warm

and I smell like shit
Like gay masturbation
Like a nicotine and divorce bonfire

Still surrounding
Amongst familiar paths of a childhood
Long since passed no one speaks

Letting inner sadist run free
I play hooky with mosquitoes and smother
The embers nearly allowing flaxen glitter
To perish before breathing back just enough life,

Another splash
I am here
Feeling only water and diluted rays
Of sunshine stretching sapling liquor thin
Along shallow canyons breaking surface tension
Sink and sink oh liver of mine
One inch at a time,

Translucent wings carry a plump bug away
Leaving an itch and drip of blood-
So this is why the rivers of the Upper Peninsula
All resemble rusty cinnamon- that colour of bad dreams
Lost concentration
Distance a dilemma
Lost in thought
Still getting in places I shouldn’t be
Is it bad timing if I was going to find out regardless?

Kicking a submerged boulder
Tumbling, plummeting
Into turbid tranquility

Could I ever outrun such a burden as this?