1. |
Twenty Thirteen
02:46
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internal dialogue reads much like an autoimmune disease, or an invocation. like there’s a fear in age, opposite my gaze, behind translucent glass. this is all to say that, now self conscious of that fate, and in my experience, benediction’s rare, except in thoughts yellowed by air and in my copy of reconstruction site. i miss the weakerthans and spending summers with my friends. there’ll always be a piece of me that lives in 2013. so glad there’s more to it than what it felt like then, but i’d rather relive times with friends in a world with the weakerthans
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2. |
Coming Up For Air
02:08
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now having immersed myself in moments four years old, i bandaged them in honey and linens to hold their stead…at least, until…resuscitated thoughts amass like wheat sprigs on the saint lawrence, where i was only going through a phase that held my gaze. i tried. wrote you in the evening just to feel a little less alone, out in left field on a broken telephone. wrote you in the evening just to feel a little less alone, nine months late on a broken telephone.
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3. |
Canis Major
02:54
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katie met dylan a short time after arriving in wales. quick companions, they’d go exploring without fail. even tumbled down the side of a mountain once - purely on account of clumsiness - but thankfully, landed on their paws and feet. and i can’t help but think of mine. been losing track of time, but that time will come again. he sniffed the wild garlic, fended off the sheep, made her feel confident, feel powerful and free. sad to say that dog was laid to rest today, near sharyn’s green paradise home, some two thousand miles away. still, i can’t help but think of mine. been losing track of time, but that time will come again. she won’t get another snuggle, so i take extra care to cling to mine and worry at each limp, each lump, each graying hair. let them run free in lives surrounded by my love. will say it now, i don’t believe in fields of light above. i can’t help but think of mine. been losing track of time, but that time will come again. i know it’s trite, and i’m alright, just reeling from the sting of human happening.
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4. |
Now & Then
02:46
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she first saw him in that wobbly chair, their lives in equal states of ample disrepair. at twenty three, she’d found her man. it was not him, though he’d understand. now times have changed and she’d swear she tried to believe in something more or something left of her inside. divorce papers came by post today. she heads to her lawyer’s office, stops at the grocery on her way. it starts with “hey!” “hey! how are you?” then coffee for two. sometimes we choose the path of least resistance. he sees her now in the produce bin, sifting through the sour fruits with a sickly kind of grin. neither knows what came before, but both still feel it could be more. “hey!” “hey! how are you?” then coffee for two, sometimes we choose the path of least resistance.
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5. |
Joan?
02:15
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her kids are grown, long gone from home, and raising families of their own. so, if the band is passing through, joanie’s got a place for you. joan? vacant country roads are curved, shaky hands could never hurt. with this resounding sentiment, she cries “pass that crown around again!” joan? murky dusk, october air caught the car and enveloped her. that cutlass split a rotting birch, and last to leave, we witnessed first. joan?
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6. |
O.K.
03:10
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black dots cascade around sonogram imagery behind these eyelids, as the church bell signals ten fifteen. radio report resuscitates the hate online. you hear that talk from friends of friends and read it in the news headlines. can we do this thing graciously? don a coat of changing leaves? mob’s biting at the metal foil around our mortal coil. can we do this thing graciously? can we do it with dignity? won’t sit for him and say you stand on guard for thee. convoluted names continue not fit. and though he’s scarred, abides with such a healing spirit. still the charter’s on poster boards in every public school hall, with ideas that they call laws, selectively apply the rules. can we do this thing graciously? don a coat of changing leaves? mob’s biting at the metal foil around our mortal coil. can we do this thing graciously? can we do it with dignity? won’t sit for him and say you stand on guard for thee. i never knew him, but he belongs in this apparition of our nationhood.
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7. |
Resignation
03:18
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sunday night. write forgotten friends, feel nervous for the week. fold your clothes, then fumble with some scraps of food to eat. fire truck is raving mad, it’s racing up the street. your fleeting interest fades, you find the couch, collapsing in defeat. oh, it all becomes us. called into the clubhouse room, where coach concedes his time is through. informs the closer of his curtain call, command’s been an issue. circumstance and time collude, corrupt this comeback tour. he carves a rally cry while cleaning out the cubicle. oh, it all becomes us. hotel site, harnessless; high and heaving heft cement. it upended him. destination? muster station. my superstition? a premonition of how things bind us in the ways that we resign. oh, it all becomes us, anyway.
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8. |
One Day I Returned
02:40
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one day i returned to the place where we last saw each other. it had changed so much that only the street-sign told me where i was. and where the house she lived in once stood a brand-new supermarket stands. as for the matter that made up me, not one particle of it remained. the eyes that saw, the ears that heard, the flesh that touched were otherwhere and the cells that replace them had come from quite different pasts. despite all this, nothing that once was had altered. i had but to close my eyes to see her, as sharp and clear as when alive. as for voice and touch, tied to an immaterial chain of memory she had not let go. that i should disappear like smoke into the ceiling. that all the flowers she pressed there had no meaning.
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Brookside Mall Fredericton, New Brunswick
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