#CanadianWriters
‘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
What should we have taken with us? We never could decide on that; or what to wear, or at what time of year we should make the journey
In that country the animals have the faces of people: the ceremonial cats possessing the streets the fox run
It was taken some time ago. At first it seems to be a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flec… blended with the paper;
The water turns a long way down over the raw stone… ice crusts around it We walk separately along the hill to the open
Whether he will go on singing or not, knowing what he knows of the horror of this world: He was not wandering among meadows all this time. He was down there
The puppet of the wolf I have not made yet encloses my right hand: fur stubbles my wrists, a tongue, avid, carnivorous,
i The children on the lawn joined hand to hand go round and round each arm going into
I would like to watch you sleeping… which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter
He would like not to kill. He wou… what he imagines other men have, instead of this red compulsion. Wh… fail him and die badly? He would l… finger by finger and with great te…
She squats, bare feet splayed out, not graceful; skirt tucked around ankl… Her face is lined and cracked. She looks old,
Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry the slick filling of aches and cav… you are not my doctor
Two voices took turns using my eyes: One had manners, painted in watercolours, used hushed tones when speaking
Those whose houses were burned burned houses. What else ever happ… once you start? While the roofs plunged into the root-filled cellars,
He is here, come down to look for… It is the song that calls you back… a song of joy and suffering equally: a promise: that things will be different up t…