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symbol flow
S-0-+I 0!
i watch
as you scrape the dirt
dragging symbols towards your body
and into a small heap…
there are more than you could pick up
without them spilling out of your arms
and they are precious…
glinting gold…
dripping blood…
and ringing notes upon the ground
they trickle from your head
as you awake
and leave a small trail
as you walk by me
with each word you speak
they sing together
and mute each other
twisting together
to form a symbol never before
or ever
seen again…
one that you couldn’t draw…
one that can not be caught
…or traced…
and yet…
you are intimate
with everything
that went into them
and you can see them
forming in your mind
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that’s why rocky ran at dawn
i’m settin’ here
in my little record shop
listenin’ to
1929 recordings of
“kid punch” miller
a little known contemporary
of louis armstrong
and i’m thinkin’
that things ain’t changed much
in the last seventy-nine years
nope
an’ they hardly ever do…
boys are still
tumblin’ into cheap, primitive studios
with their bottles and smokes
whoopin’ it up
an’ havin’ a ball
makin’ sweet music
to their ears
an’ they’re still
playin’ rent parties
an’ passin’ the jug
an passin’ out on the floor
after chasin’ each other’s women
an’ smokin’ too much weed
an’ they’re still
comin’ to my shop
and whinin’ that
the music industry is corrupt
which it is, but no more
than everything else
themselves included
and they cry that
they don’t know how
to make it
and i know it
`cause i don’t
know how
either
except for
tryin’ to
work harder
`cause in `29
you could only
get a nickname
like “kid punch”
if you could
cut the mustard
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from the parasite papers
(early excerpt)
first
realize how small you are
a parasite on a host
squash you like a bug
a tiny organism
consuming more than its share
you’re a louse
blood, urine, feces, saliva
parasitic playgrounds
you’ve got your hooks in me
blood-sucker
bleeding me dry
don’t bug me
working in the bowels of the earth
i can’t let go
it’s eating at me
i’ll get out of your hair
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the story (continues)
…the credits roll…
the story is SO BIG now… or… is it?
-isn’t an act of war
simply
and act of war?
what’s to explain?
…thousands of years discussing one urge…
…our little stories… seem to help…
some overcome the urge
but others have to stoke it
-while the solitary author
watches the stars
and listens to the wind
-something soldiers must learn to do
if they are to survive…
when i work alone on my story
sometimes
war recedes
far into the distance…
how do you dismantle
such an ancient machine?
-warlords band together
to write
their egos
upon their people
-artists converge
to turn the ego
towards the sun
…japanese animators
enhance an italian story
directed by a scotsman
produced by a jew
starring an african
set in spain
edited by a frenchman
with cinematography by a swede
music by a czech
and costume design by a turk
dubbed for release in 28 countries
…the credits roll…
watch the credits
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*author’s note… my haiku are written much shorter than 5-7-5 so that they can translate into 5-7-5 in Japanese…
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haiku
butterfly’s beauty overwhelms
the surrounding concrete
–
–
–
haiku
hungover
i feel like
that twirling leaf
–
–
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matron
another full day of work
from morning until late afternoon
and what better thing is there
for an old woman to work towards
than to sit on her porch on a hot summer’s evening
a beautiful wilting flower
amongst the many young ones in her garden
–
–
–
following the big boys
yeah…
so Michael died yesterday…
and all i have to do is say Michael
and you know exactly who i’m talking about
or at least have him near the top of your Michael death list
not that it made me sad
because i’ve expected weird shit from him for years
and for someone as rich as him to have a heart attack and die at 50
is just weird
so when a fellow record seller
came into my shop and asked if i’ve sold any Michael yet
it took a while for it to sink in that i can charge more for his records now
and when i pulled them
so that i could see which ones i have
i found that i have some great ones that i’ll charge more for
yes i must admit that when
something or someone points out to me
that things are going to be more expensive i follow a little bit
yep i follow a little bit
just like all of the followers following the greats
who reset the standards that most of us wind up chasing one way or another
just like bukowski followed celine
and van gogh followed millet
and beckett followed yeats
and Michael followed James
and you know who James was…
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there’s gotta be a better way
hot town
summer in the city
and there’s a
GAAARBAGE STRIIIIIKE!
yep…
the CUPE Local 79
and TCEU Local 416 (CUPE)
aren’t happy with their city wages
and their regular unionized pay raises
so they’ve decided to strike and shut down
a whole shit-load of services here in hogtown
it’s only in its second day now
but running my kensington market record store
and being president of the community organization
i’m already up to my eyeballs in the business concerns
the cbc doc rep has been by
and it’s his biggest story right now
my friend shamez
owner of la palette was here
and told me of how he and the owners
of all the restaurants on this block will work together
and compile all of their garbage and take it to the dump themselves
which is great
because i like seeing
my neighbours work together
to solve problems and get things done
so a couple of the boys
will go with the garbage to the dump
and our group of folks just trying to help each other out
will meet and confront picketers just trying to help each other out
and they will stare each other down and possibly shout and argue about
what is right
and what is wrong…
as if they all weren’t trying to do what’s right already
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haiku
gliding on bike
dragonfly keeps pace
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building the ship to come in
when i was six
i made a ship
out of small boxes
cereal boxes
macaroni boxes
hairspray boxes
chocolate boxes
all with little doors
leading into each other
for weeks
i kept adding to it
and it got bigger
and bigger and bigger
and got as long as i was
and i took it to school
stretched out on the floor
happy with my
big, crazy, random
house boat complex
a few years later
i started writing
little pieces
little projects
collected together
in notebooks
and drawers
on scrap paper
and eventually
computers
after a while
there were hundreds
and then thousands
of little notes
drawings, poems
prose and ideas
and they all felt
connected
in some way
connected
to some early
idea of self
that sent out
a wave of debris
that i’m still picking through
so when i remembered
the ship complex
with its dozens
of little doors
leading to every room
i thought of
my body of work
and wondered if
it might actually float
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closed circles
a young native couple
is having the up and down
and back and forth
across the street
in front of my shop
lunch-time argument
and it’s pretty sad
because its easy to tell
that she’s pregnant
and that they’re both
booze-ravaged souls
who are here for the
busy soup kitchen
a few doors down
looking at their faces
you can see that
they haven’t a prayer
for a life of much of any
normalcy any more
for as long as
they both shall live
the pain and beatings
and berating and blows
are etched in thick stone
upon their muscular faces
as they spit and shout
and throw up their hands
and toss their back-packs
at each other in disgust
they’ve grown up
with generations
of self-destruction
from the wounds that
the short end of the stick
have marked upon them
and it’s as natural to them
to kick in despair
as it may be to you
to mark down
your pension plan contribution
-so don’t sit comfy and wonder
why they block trains
and burn tires on the road
and shut things down
over unresolved land claims
yes, i am truly disgusted
by what is still to this day
borne of this society
where the money
that built what we have
on land that was taken from them
still mostly goes around
in death circles
that pay for
or subsidize
white education
white arts funding
white highways
white banks
white auto makers
white court buildings
white expense accounts
white health benefits
and white lies
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pressing on
my japanese wife is about to leave
for a job interview…
this is the ninth or tenth
in a long string of them
and we really need it…
the sub-prime, war-time
low dollar, november chill
has got us dipping
into my credit card
and it fucking sucks sometimes…
(thank god for the love…)
and as i make my coffee
she comes out of the bedroom
really pretty
which i really like
and she gently but rapidly
pats her heart
and says
“chyotto doki-doki…”
which means
“beating a little fast”
and i can’t help but be
instantly transported
to the last time i felt
that particular
nervous sensation…
it’s an animal all its own…
and it’s not the best of feelings
considering it reminds me
of the feeling i used to get
when i thought i might have to
fight someone in the school yard…
and i work for myself now
because being beholden
to other men
made me want to
pull my own heart out
through my throat
and smash it
into my bosses faces
because most companies
are stuck with outdated philosophies
on how to manage
and most people power-trip…
so i give her a kiss
and a big hug
and take a charlie brown pocket book
off of the bookshelf
and tell her to read it
on the bus…
“it’ll help you stay calm”
i explain…
and it will
if only for a little while…
which is all we need sometimes…
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