I guess I should mention what I did for my birthday. I got to go to...THE COMMIE!! For those of you that know me, that's the elusive blues bar only 3 blocks from my house that I always want to go to but no one else I know is ever in. Anyway, I went with Kristy and Andrea, and I finally got to meet Deb, a friend of Kristy's whose also a friend of my arty buddy Christofer. Deb's doing an art show on Whyte right now, and I finally got to go check it out today. She does impressive stuff. Hard to describe, which is what I like. Oh, I should also mention that I got to hook up with my old buddies Leif and Ivan last weekend. What a trip that was!! There's a certain 'mumbling' quality to them that's very charming. I've added Leif's links, the Hive one under "Cause I said so" and the yakimo one under "Hep Cats". But I digress. I also finally hooked up with my friend Marie (Montreal friend's sister) on Friday night at the Commie. She's dating one of Mr. Jesus's friends. Oh, the tragic irony! It was kinda wierd. Eh. Whatever. So anyway, here's a new poem. It's not really done yet, but I thought, what the hell? seeing as I've kinda been slacking on this thing lately...

UNTITLED(so far)

Handsome:
the way he always steals a glance
at my right side
with no explanation
for his fascination.
And the wild ones,
I told them so,
they snap, crackle and pop,
the two of them,
all hips and snarls and hungry firey eyes
dancing in skirts over bell-bottoms,
reencarnations of Sappho,
Goddesses,
of brushing aside their quiet pains
allowing beauty to give them sway.
And then there is this broken one
caught in a glass jar I've already seen,
adept at rhetorical persuation
by proccess of ethical elimination
camouflaging blind spots
with strategic truths
and love knots.
And then there is this quiet girl
exposing her wisdom
and capacity for universal love
through broken english,
smoothed out in low-frequency
bursts of confidence:
her heart is pure and strong
and soft as laughter.
And then there is the Queen of Words,
who rolls images around her tongue
like lollipops and blowjobs
and fits them into an inner world
of Gaudian architecture
like dogmatic gospel,
starved to be answered
with a yes.
And then there are
the dear departed,
forever lodged in my heart's edge,
like the roudy rogue
who stole my heart
with bad French and beautiful dreams
and baritone strumming
that gets my thighs humming.
And then the francophone gentlemen,
the most delicate artisans,
wielding political charms,
leaving me grovelling
at the foot of each noble pedestal
with each humid, humbling melody.
And the one with eyes of stone,
a shark in shallow waters,
vibrating with alertness
to petty details.
And then there is the boy child,
praying no one discovers
his deeper
darker
intensities,
exposing his secret with every
measured gesture.
And then there is that woman,
that lioness without cubs,
reaching across the world
to find what is already here:
gaping holes in self awareness
that make her sweeter than perfection...