Meeting Time

The bleeding
brave the cold
in search of carrion.
Their wounds are
mouths of pain,
with no time
for healing,
for silence.

Finding the silent dead
to feed on,
gratitude is no longer
necessary, but
the electricity of the
blood continues moving

It isn’t difficult to
meet time:
over electric blood,
truth is ability

breathing the
patient solitude
of dreams.


O, New York poet,

where did you find
your dusted birds
and tree of death?

Christmas is coming
and I’m going to Boston.
I know it isn’t Vienna,
but can I get them there too?

And can I get them
without paying duty?

Or will I just find you:
Alive in
an orange cover
and pebbled photograph.

Sea (for STC)

A bird between
the Lord and I,
Ponderous and muscled,
between us,
boding goodness.

No bird between
the Lord and I,
neck broken,
only a picker
with sharpened blade.

No sharpness to
the blade, blunted
by my desires,

Life in
the writhing.

No writhing to
my existence,
wrought by my
own permission,

there is penance and
understanding for
all but me.


A yelp,
a long growl,
she lies on
my mother’s bed,
fighting with her own dreams.

Eyelids flicker
over another set
of pink blinds.

All she does is sleep,
goes out when I let her,
snarls at the male
when he gets in her way.

What could happen in
a dog’s nightmares?


Your glance is surrounded, buoyant.

Were my arms trebled

in length and number,

I could never so surround you,

though you call yourself my own.

You don’t do it for victory,

kissing your beauty with my lips.

You don’t closet yourself from anger,

leaving me to mind my own.

I’m alone in uncertainty, delicious,

where the learning

has just begun.

Study: Lapointe Fish

Blood changes colour
as fingers ease over

pale and pink,
tips rounded
and brilliant
in accumulation.

Whiting have nothing
but guts, not even
bones to speak of.
Prying fingers impale
the skin easily,
body-length brains
ease out
for under a buck
a pound.

There are the other
fish, of course.
Glaring pink and perfect
white disposable

Customer! Customer!
Red lights change
as they stand
until closing.
We throw water
to get the corners
not caring
about soles of leather
or soles with holes.

Ottawa, Byward Market, 1984.