grecian urge

i want to live in a house with no glass in the windows
no doors in the door frames
no carpets on the floors
no junk in the closets
no lights on the ceilings
no clocks on the walls.

there'll be white billowy curtains
let loose in blessed breezes
and cool stone tile underfoot and cheek.
and a long wide patio bleached pale in the sun
as my skin goes bronze, my mouth fills
with icy wine and the vapours tickle my nose.
on the table, a bowl each of
afternoon-warmed grapes and musky salted olives as
dozy wasps abscond with beads of nectar and oil.

the ocean is miles away but if i shade my eyes
and lean back just right it floats just below the patio ledge.
leaning forward, i see small, noisy cars edging their way
along distant cliff roads, but the sound never reaches up here.
just the creak of a bicycle chain and the flap of laundry on the line,
and once in a while, the odd strained sound of the neighbour's piano.
a mile down the track, it's a trick of the sea breeze
that you only hear every second note of every third song
between the cicadas and warblers, gaia's meditation.

an evening bath in near darkness is a favourite
a sunken tub and the dim glow of a single lantern
i run the water cool and soak as the cliff roses just below the window
recover from the heat of another day by releasing their perfume
it's a joyful but quiet celebration, day to night
we are transformed, all.
i barely dress, hair still wet, leaving wet footprints to dissolve
as i cross the little open house all gloaming
and seat myself at a heavily scarred wooden table, you facing me
soft smiles, vinegar'd vegetables and chilled grains on stone plates.
we hardly talk anymore
it'd be like talking to oneself, so easily we read one another;
so little that happens each day.

the expanse of cool bed under pinned straight gossamer netting
the nightsounds of the cliff sides and distant village and sea
a heavy book rests open, pages-down on gently rising, then falling, belly
your hand finds mine as you scribble something on a tablet on your knees
i wonder about the weather, about a tempest, about a teapot
about a rowboat expedition the next week to swim in the deep sea
about the souring dough under the tea cloth and the dwindling wine supply
about tending the small vegetable patch and sharing the meagre bounty
with a warbly little piano player, a mile down the track.

i want to live in a house with no glass in the windows
no doors in the door frames
no carpets on the floors
no junk in the closets
no lights on the ceilings
no clocks on the walls.

a common but natural wonder

they were aluminum steps, just three, the kind that dig into the backs of your knees
that odd yellow morning you left me.
there was a certain sound each footstep made on those pointy metal planes
and i sat on them a long time after you were gone,
anti-slip peaks digging through the thin cotton of my shorts and brown grass
between my bare toes
cold and dying.

just sitting there with the door wide open behind me
a queer thunderstorm morning, thirsty daisies all dayglo
the gravel spat out by your car's tires little cairns all in a row, seeds unsown
no one else was home, i was all alone
the whole neighbourhood sparse, a stray with a hungry rib cage
stopped to lick my hand
but didn't stay.

there was that long line of hemlock trees a few yards off, denoting borders between
this park and that park,
the wrong side of the conifers was where you loved me most
all that long dry summer, then again all that long dark winter
inside my tin can, inside my white trash bungalow, my hideaway, my drafty lair
our backs on a thin foam mattress
fingering a frayed blanket.

it would sometimes seem to me the hemlocks' boughs spoke to and caressed each other
soft summer wind or roiling winter storm
looking out the porthole from the far side of my bed
i'd wonder at their secret languages and loved them offhandedly
a bit like the way you loved me, as if i were a common but natural wonder
appreciated in small gusts fueled by
mortality, or liquor.

that morning the hemlocks were moving, or seemed to move, though there was no breeze
and though i was distracted at first,
with the heartache of loss and all, the sound of your last words
reverbing in my ear canals like some kind of maritime dirge
i came to be aware of the unfamilliar fluttering as something not tree-like
something decidedly birdlike
filling every bough.

in silence they sat, narrow and fat, covering every itchy inch of branch
feathers ruffled here and there
but otherwise still as the air, and watched me carefully from the hemlock trees
as if they'd always been there and always would be, all black eyes
shiny beaks, the looming threat, a rookery
bearing silent witness
to the aftermath of your retreat.

Not Waving

If I must, absolutely must, go about the business of drowning,
I make the following requests.

That I sink slowly and thoroughly,
That I slip thickly and knowingly,
That my eyes remain open,
And my throat keeps humming.

That the medium be warm and enveloping,
That it be glossy and smooth,
That it saturate every part of me,
In the swirls of my ears & tender spaces between toes.

If I must, absolutely must, go about the business of drowning,
Let it be that I suffocated in you.

mardi gras!

so i had this dream that i was at mardi gras in new orleans and it was really hot and sunny out so everyone was wearing short-shorts and bras and beads and face paint. we were following this float that had beth ditto and the gossip on it, blasting out a wicked rendition of "on the prowl":

I’m a firecracker on the 4th of July
I’ll make your mama beg, I’ll make your daddy cry
I’ll walk a million miles for just one piece of your pie
I’m not a stranger, darlin’, so don’t you be shy,
I'll give you something that you'll never forget,
We're gonna do it till we're both outta breath,
Come on darling cause you're making me wet,
So give me something that I haven't had yet,
I'm gonna treat you right, just let momma take your hand,
You betta hang on tight
I'm gonna treat you right,
Gonna take you home tonight,
It's gonna be better, darling, than you ever thought it could
I'm gonna give you something that you'll never forget,
We're gonna do it till we're both outta breath,
Come on darlin cause you're making me wet,
So give me something That I haven't had yet.


the float turned down this alley way that was really just an over grown dirt road. the ruts were deep and jagged and uneven. the grass was knee high. i was marching and dancing behind this girl i used to work with at the fat chicks' clothing store and she was wearing these high-waisted bright red shorts and i remember thinking how enormous and gorgeous her ass looked in them.

suddenly from behind us there was a loud honking and we turned to see this ridiculous Hummer-type vehicle trying to drive up the dirt road behind us. it was painted in lurid reds and yellows and clearly would not fit through the narrow space. my old co-worked and i started yelling at them to turn around and go back, but the driver wouldn't let up. we just scoffed and turned around to follow beth ditto again. suddenly there was a horrible noise behind us and we turned to see that the hummer had hit a ditch too hard and turned onto it's side.

we walked back to see if we could help the driver out. it was ronald mcdonald. we climbed up and pried the door open and yelled at him that he was a complete idiot and to get out of the vehicle, but he was unconscious and bleeding from a wound on his head. my co-worker said, "there's a mcdonald's a block away, you should go tell them their guy needs help." so i took off.

when i got in the mcdonalds i stood in line for a long time. finally i got up to the counter and who was the person working the till, but robert fuckin deniro. i said, "holy shit," and he just looked around nervously like he was worried i'd rat him out. i said, "you're...you're..." and he put up his hand to shush me. "yeah, i know. i know who i am. what can i get for you?" this was the last till, at the end of the counter, so there was a little gap where you could walk in behind, so i did that. wounded burger-shilling clown completely forgotten, i hopped up on the counter and put my arms around his neck and put my lips near his ear and said, "you don't really wanna be workin here during mardi gras, do you? you wanna earn some beads the hard way?" he turned completely red and swallowed hard and nodded. THEN MY ALARM WENT OFF. ugh.

new ideas about why we dream.