Monday, 22 June 2015

1 New Poem


Humdrum humming of gradient steel,
chewing gum pavement, cut with lye glass,
Radioshack mock boomboxes blaring deep house
in past-work hour mocking a fool's
panoply of bright-checked shirts, stetson
whistles and views of billboard bylines,
gave you some placement, anchor in
two-slice five-dollar ticket counters,
the hard-sell donation box merchants,
the 888 Craft Market lead paints fumes.

But I can't fault it,

when I fell back on despondent's jeer,
pretended sophistication for someone used to
facade accents, half-stories of life, embellishments,
to get through the morning's perception,
to get past an urge of collapse.

The Bellwoods maples, whacked together
hammer-chisel with art pattern invisibility,
with white fence sophistication, never did
a great deal more than sights of entangled
arms on Church St. alleyway bottles,

but, then, for you:

I fall hard, I fall fast
to parchment, to concrete.

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