I’m gong to steal a line…
‘But your finger starts to wiggle and landscapes emerge’-…
now i will try to paint some dreams
because in this drinking hall i want you to fall in love with
more than just ‘words’ – i want you to soak in the sounds of voice.
allow me to step up to the plate
lull you through imagination and not sleep
or stuttering madness
in the Bancroft horizon
the world ends
but Ontario keeps trudging along –
another 24 hours past shale rock or limestone.
In the east
people are beginning to forget about Kingston
settling back into the routine of their lives
let’s keep the huskies mushing north –
become lost in a wilderness circle
and find ourselves somehow
out west –
but how far west
before we have finally found a province
where people offer the lifestyle
we have always been searching?
In ’03 we were 2 years into our lifetime of lovemaking
i was skinny and felt young – and i wanted to paint a corridor
use an easel and project your beauty onto the movie screen.
I wanted to be a millionaire poet
in a country where Canadian rock stars
need to start with 2
just to end up
now I’m 38 and it’s almost Halloween.
We’ve entered the month of your birth.
Not from the womb
but the month where you woke
danced with Gomez Adams on the television screen
‘I need a man as romantic as John Astin’
we have taken the highway
and explored our home province to death.
Grew up and left Sugar Island –
grew up and left the triangle tip of Tyendinaga
rather than allowing our love to drift into Dimaggio watching over Marilyn –
we have forged a union unique to our skill set of friendship through trust
and from your childhood Steeltown
we have observed our commitment over 3 provincial bridges –
Burlington Skyway –
Bay bridge and Deseronto –
all of which lead us to family homes
my love – where do we go from here?
15 years is only a drop in the bucket for marriage
and in my lifetime i want to grow older than Abraham.
I don’t need to identify with
create an inaccurate nation
i would love to travel and discover what each continent has to offer.
Learn the history – rather than hide from it.
We could find Sherpa’s or better yet
travel their earthly brown patterns down the great neck
of a broken Pangaea.
a wild animal
still trying to figure out who or what came first –
wondering why we are masters of nothing –
still needing only love and forgiveness to get along
returning to that stolen line –
my fingers are beginning to cramp
and the local map is worn out.
Our world from above a dark heaven
is a bumpy textual braille
speaking to us – saying there is more.
the hwy moon is shining down onto the hood of our
car – clouds are forming – ready to storm
from this stage tonight with candle lit tables –
i hope my voice in soft tones has been heard
my muddled accent
and poor efforts in pronunciation
i am a chewer of words…
i am parked along a renamed
church side road –
i’m standing with you in an abandoned lot –
a family farm field no longer plowed
where a home for our travels may never be built
but waits – for a life time of stories told
jump in the car with me
I’ll flip the high beams over
fiddle with the stereo – ‘rain on windshield heading south’
(yes another stolen line -)
you can slide in close and we’ll pretend the radio
is singing us a secret
-we’ll drive until Autumn becomes winter
find a tropical beach and write our names in the sand
disappearing into stolen songs – voiced over lyrics
letting people know back home
we are safe
but with no intentions of coming back