poSITion

split open like a pea
a split pea
…………………………. legs out like a t
today’s letter ‘is’ T
………………………… hold
…………………………… steady
……. hold

pencils out
.. ‘n
. draw

there is nothing to hide here
move your chair if you are uncomfortable
and why would you be … un
… comfortable
… ?

it is not you who has to hold this ……..p
…………………………………………….o
…………………………………………sit P ion
…………………………………………….O
…………………………………………….S
…………………………………………… T
…………………………………………… I
…………………………………………… O
…………………………………………… N

a pea
.. a split
pea ……..

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what people remember most on trips

i don’t know why seeing you naked always
puts me in the mood for apples. It’s as though my
stomach is speaking instead of my heart
or my heart is really set on having some
apples.

but –

here we are in bed again
and your bosoms sway in ways
and transform in
ways i didn’t know were possible depending
on what position we take after
having a smoke.

perhaps it’s this unhealthy ritual afterwards –
having a smoke and kicking the sheets
off our legs.

after what we’ve done
we
got nothing left to hide
but our bodies seem to what to choke out the
memories.

so perhaps i will go to the kitchen
i’ll stand at the counter and search out the bowl of red
apples
while you saunter over the refrigerator and
decide on milk to help you sleep or a cold glass of white
wine to help you forget.

i’ll join you there
and we’ll feel as though here at midnight
we’re being painted –

that’s what you’ll recall about our trip to the east coast when
people ask what you remember best. but

we’ll exclude what brought us down to the midnight kitchen
and everyone will wonder why during the entire trip
all i wanted at various times

were apples….

Refrigerator: Alex Colville, (Alex Colville, Refrigerator, 1977
Acrylic polymer emulsion on hardboard, 120 x 74 cm).

Alex Colville, in full David Alexander Colville, (born August 24, 1920, Toronto, Ontario, Canada—died July 16, 2013, Wolfville, Nova Scotia), Canadian painter whose detailed works depicted everyday subject matter and possessed a mysterious, mythic quality that belied psychological acuity. Though he worked during the heyday of the abstract art movement, Colville never deviated from his figurative style.


Muleta Lazy Love mixed in Summer Colours

i want to eat your roses
with the morning coffee sun
the glass vase between your legs
as you sit on the windowsill picking petals

i find you in bed strewn with the silhouette of drapes
their pattern spread over your body
while you swear off heat of day
brush hand across night stand
knocking pencil off homemade maps
‘it’s too hot to travel today’

the last rose is thrown over my shoulder
it is too early to tango
but perhaps i could be the matador
ripping sheet off bed and raising your faux anger to boiling point

there is no meaning at the moment to our black and pink life
(this Summer classic)
neither of us want to join the current world
this cottage is parked outside a small fenceline
a field forgotten to be anything more than nostalgia
and we are our only lovers waiting on evening solitude

we sleep now in the harvest moon darkness curled –
your arm draped over my shoulder
the curtain on wooden rod blowing above and across our dreams
hanging from its hooks above the window….

Muleta: The muleta is a stick with a red cloth hanging from it that is used in the final third of a bullfight. It is different from the cape used by the matador earlier in the fight (capote de brega).

The muleta obscures the sword, and as in his earlier work with the cape, the bullfighter uses it to attract the bull in a series of passes. The red colour of the muleta is actually unnecessary, though, as bulls are dichromatic, meaning neither the cape nor the muleta colour can be accurately discerned by the bull. The colour is retained merely for tradition.

Black and Pink life: Black and Pink create red

Harvest moon: Harvest moon is orange. Orange combines the energy of red and the happiness of yellow. It is associated with joy, sunshine, and the tropics. Orange represents enthusiasm, fascination, happiness, creativity, determination, attraction, success, encouragement, and stimulation. … In heraldry, orange is symbolic of strength and endurance.


Pleating or Pleading

I like it when
you’re not in the dress
but holding it
hugging
it against you

asking for my opinion

you’re pleating it down your leg
or pleading against my thoughts for opinion

– and each time i’m going to say no –

just watch you drop the dress
turn and walk away
walk
past mirror and pull down another

starting the whole
pleating
or
pleading process

-wondering-

why i can’t make a decision for you.


Eve the Wise ( ) Punk

OMG! says adam
DID YOU SHAVE?

eve places a white danelion infront
adam scowls
so she goes for a piece of wheat

BETTER REPRESENTATION? asks eve
OR WOULD YOU RATHER MAKE A WISH

adam fumes looking her up and down
he notices the butter fly monarch tattoos on her legs
and howls

WHAT THE HELL! says adam
YOU GOT TATTOOS NOW?

eve smirks and admires her artwork
two monarchs – one a deep orange
the other a deep deep red

I LIKE BUTTERFLYS says eve
THEY REMIND ME OF BETTER TIMES

adam can’t believe it
marking her body the way she does
as if God weren’t mad enough

THERE’S BUTTERFLYS AROUND ALL THE TIME! says adam
YOU CAN CHASE THEM WITH A NET

I DID says eve
BUT THESE TWO I DON’T WANT TO FORGET

she turns to leave and adam is speechless
someone has started to ink angel wings across her
shoulder blades

WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE! screams adam
ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE THINGS WORSE

OH
says eve

YOU NOTICED

adam is frozen as she rolls her shoulders
crunching out the stress he’s beginning to feel
this -eve- always testing him

I WANT GOD TO KNOW says eve
I STILL WANT TO BE PART OF THE FLOCK

and eve saunters deeper into the forest
and adam with jaw dropped wonders if someone could sketch him
so he could see his own reaction in comic book number 5…


North Bay History

I have turned 40 with all
the middle age proportions to go with.
doctors wanting to prod my body to make sure at my age
and with my family history.

My wife says i live knowing the past
rather than living in the present
never worrying about the future.

and here we stand in an airplane hangar
commercially used but with a military background.
in the middle of the floor is a 65 year old
RCAF logo – painted
half scrubbed off but still lying proud.
we take our picture on it and i wonder if that’s
inappropriate – like standing on a team logo in a dressing room
rather than going around.

and the bar runs and the music plays
the tin barn rivets search for flapper girls from the 1920’s
finding my wife – young and in love.

all around is history – military men and women
drinking in modern clothes and not feeling the vibe of a
picture tube – wanting to photograph them looking like
Dietrich and Wayne in WW2 epic despite
the interrupted years of history and original flags (9 feet by 20)
not touching the floor.

all around us is history
while we eat and drink in the modern spirit of things.
NonComs and Officers talking about careers
while I a man – take on the role of civilian spouse
wearing pants and sitting with wives who aren’t wives
but officers themselves on maternity leave.

‘Honey
let’s a take picture of you and me around this fighter jet.
it’s modern and almost new. it rests here after being part of
the Armed Forces Show – displaying the proud history of the RCAF
and NORAD and North Bay…’

I am now 40
and I feel the history of 100 years around me
hoping for another 60
infront of
me


4 corners of the bachelor pad by the bed at the window

she sits on the stool by the typewriter
and says to him at the desk

‘write me. i just left the stool of the painter and he won’t paint me.’

the writer flicks ash into the cup by the typewriter
and smirks to hear her interrupt

and don’t be bukowski saying
painters only write and writers only paint. i’m a woman
who should be in your story.’

he thinks about war
old maps of D-day on the wall
he thinks about the world and history repeating itself
he thinks about pulp and romance or a good bank heist
old articles of algonquin traversed by canoe

‘my clothes are on the floor and your decanter is full of wine
stop thinking and write – tell me there’s something to be said’

‘my love’ says the writer staring over at his easel
‘my love’ says the painter staring over at his music sheets
‘my love’ says the musician staring out the window at his garden

‘in you are too many ideas for a poor man like me’.

she pours some wine
the cigarette is crushed out
she stays on the stool
he stays at his desk.


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