The Bear

I would like to hibernate,

to go underground for a long time,

slow my heart to an aching throb

and my breathing to a wisp of air,

entering and leaving.

I would like to have hair like a rug

and big paws meaty with claws

to rip bark from a tree.

I would pull myself into a cave,

rocks and moss and the fresh earth.

And I would have stuffed myself for months

on carrion and slugs and a moose

I had tracked and pulled down 

with my strength.

And then I would sleep but 

not like I do now

but in a half trance maintained

so I could wander the planets

and use my unusual gaze.

Sid and Nancy

 We love our knives

and the whetting of blades

and blood;

there's always blood

amidst confusion,

blood and confusion.

No one understands 

that the next incarnation

will be perfect,

better, cause it's always better.

What we achieve in the flesh

is always stretching

to find the new climax

and if in exhaustion

we collapse in mindless violence,

somewhere within what we lose in pain

is the concept of maximum pleasure gained.

With Each Other

The time has almost come

and what are you waiting for?

The moon has turned to blood

and the dancers are standing guard.

Lights have reached the stars

and they have donned their masks.

And we sit.

And we sit

admiring the night and 

our last chance. 

Destruction is beautiful,

sounds and colours

lacking imagination

are just and only themselves

as you and I are only ourselves

and with all else gone

what shall we do

what shall we do 

with each other

Too Many Straights

 I'm playing games to keep me sane

But still I'm going crazy again

Too many straights

serving up plates

of the same old me vs you stew.

If I dive off a cliff

you'll catch my riff

but then forget very soon.

preoccupations will come

soothing you dumb

innocuous to events of that day

I'll not bother you

I'm just passing through

This world is not my home

I'm still searching

Watching

Nothing left to day, to say

as the starlings line the wires

and chit chat and call with whistles

and clucks. People are stalking

with manic needs that never

will be satisfied. But I cannot

do a thing anymore except watch.

They think I'm demented and 

maybe I am but I know what

to do and what not to do and

to not say anything. Even the 

cold north wind with skin biting

teeth is my welcome guest. As

is the stray dog, the raccoon and 

the crazy man who yells at night.

Growing old

 Lloyds lamp and Dad's knife,

Zena's fur coat and the money

from Janice. Dan's always talking

about Irene. And I still think of

Dusty and Sue. Uncle Greg 

at the farm and Uncle Jim 

drunk in his car. Both my 

grandfathers living in Whitby.

My own fathers tomb with

the trout on the headstone.

Trying so hard for something

so frail and tentative. I am

always wanting to do better.

Zero Gravity

Why do you tie yourself up in knots?
So you can come undone again?
And why not? What is it for?
If not to make you different. 
If not to notice one more chain.
One more fetter to restrain your freedom.
One more reason to be bound to the earth.
Because otherwise you might just float away.