(January 12, 2013)

Blog update:

For now haikus aren't tugging at my shirtsleeves. I am free-writing, instead, at www.lightinfinityexpress.blogspot.com. Please come visit!

(I have been inspired by an old friend)

Every Day Closer
to Light. Sureness.
Angels Singing.

(America bursts from your organs (in parts))

America bursts
from your organs, red, blue


I sip spiked tea.

You wash your hair smelling
wood smoke, flesh

I swallow an apple.

You gnaw on Christ's arm.

He pours red wine.

We feast.

(yesterday I was a pillar of bees)

I shower in mold,
shaking, wracked with ivy and dust.
Pigeons feast on my toes.


*excerpted from Light Infinity

(Montreal, 2007)

Capybara, ice-cold
memories in a biodome
ducks, kissing French

(day)

I will come home. 
I will walk to buy toilet paper.
I will listen to other people sing.

(these trinkets are my love (in parts))

These trinkets are my love:
Earrings. A wide, wooden bracelet.
I picked them for you.

It's not enough.
To stand conflicted in a market stall
Deciding

To think and think about
what you like best. To give you
an approximation.

Still I ponder.
Even the gift box, blue,
with thin blue ribbon.


What I mean this to say
is that I love you. I am willing to die; 
I love you so

I have spent my morning
in a market stall,
thinking about what you love.

(her face is my face)

her face is my face
splintering
her hands cup our cheeks