h-o-m-e.

It's hard to go home
when you're not too sure
if that word is more
than just four letters.

Four letters
that don't add up to much
in a game of Scrabble.
So I guess that means
I've lost again.

flight 664, Calgary to Toronto

Cities illuminated:
Like squished spiders
-electric...but dead.
Surrounding rivers reaching-
spread outlike laugh lines
on one hell of a huge face.
Old...and romantic-
the storytellers of lives.
And baby,
I'm just so high
that I never want to come down.
'Cause if heaven exists
I think I might be closeby.

flight 0075, Nassau to Toronto

...the city appears
like a massive, unamed pyramid
plucked right out of Egypt
in a spectacular displacement.
Or maybe it's like
a patient mound of gold
melting in its livliness
and creeping quietly into the lake.
But upon closer inspection,
it's quite obvious
that it's not but a giant, glowing motherboard
~computer guts~
each piece with a purpose
and all coming together
to make this Big Thing tick.

another bus ride

Through the space between the seats
I play voyeur with the woman infront of me.
Her existence,
in general,
makes me furious.
-distracted-
as the sun flutters through the trees
like the listless arm of a child
as it grazes across the railing in a shopping mall
or a train station.
And that woman infront of me
is rustling and gorging on bags and bags of nuts.
She shoves them into her sexless mouth,
as her hair sits like a limp mushroom on top of her head.
I hate her just a little bit more.
The sun is now fading into the sky
like a thin, golden coin
slipping into a giant pocket.
And that awful woman
is still eating those damn nuts.

bone machine dream

if there was such a thing
as a bone machine,
i'd gladly snuggle up with it-
every night-
for a couple pounds of shavings.

Untitled

Bubbles...
like radio-bath static
or tiny little audiences
clapping.
And me,
like a giant foetus
aware of no return,
and very exposed.