#CanadianWriters
The puppet of the wolf I have not made yet encloses my right hand: fur stubbles my wrists, a tongue, avid, carnivorous,
My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn’t the moon warm enough for you why do you need
An affair with Raymond Chandler, what a joy! Not because of the mangled bodies and the marinated cops and hints of eccentric sex, but because of his interest in furniture. He kn...
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
The bronze clock brought with such care over the sea, which ticked like the fat slow hea… of a cedar, of a grandmother, melted and its hundred years
Starspangled cowboy sauntering out of the almost– silly West, on your face a porcelain grin, tugging a papier-mache cactus
Let others pray for the passenger… the dodo, the whooping crane, the… everyone must specialize I will confine myself to a meditat… upon the giant tortoises
When you hear me singing you get the rifle down and the flashlight, aiming for my… but you always miss and when you set out the poison
Your lungs fill & spread themselve… wings of pink blood, and your bone… empty themselves and become hollow… When you breathe in you’ll lift li… and your heart is light too & huge…
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
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.
My daughter plays on the floor with plastic letters, red, blue & hard yellow, learning how to spell, spelling,
In that country the animals have the faces of people: the ceremonial cats possessing the streets the fox run
i The children on the lawn joined hand to hand go round and round each arm going into