fix those broken edges
torn where it was
push them together, watch the structure
buckle
triangles go into their corresponding blanks
magic tape mistake
in the ditch and the weeds, head up stranger
stick
stitch it stitch it stitch it
fix it fix it fix it
ash
indelible
Heartwarming Bullshit
So here's a good story. It's about that place I go with my family, where we go for bike rides and sometimes windsurfing (last time I did that was rough, you would not believe).
At the time of this yarn, my brother Dave is three and a bit years old and I'm two. Craig is unborn, and does not feature here. At that age, our parents would drag us around in a trailer attached to my Dad's bike. The trailer still sees use to this day, hauling groceries. It is molded black plastic riveted to an aluminum frame, and quite well made. The best part here is that the name of the trailer is Bugger LuggerTM.
Alright so it's a beautiful day out at the lake, and the decree comes down that we're going for a bike ride. As it has been, and will continue to be, decreed. We get buckled in, because of course the Bugger LuggerTM has a seat belt, and off we go. Probably Dave is on my side, I don't remember. We ride along for a while, the sun is shining and people are smiling, probably saying hello to each other without fear. In general, it is the seventies.
When the sun is obscured by leaves, Dave and I begin our debate. Couched in terms that we know, our epic disagreement consists of two words. When the rays of that heavenly object strike us, one declares, "Sunny!" and when those rays hide in the trees, the other replies, "Dark!"
This story is referenced regularly, and has been for so long that a shorthand of it has become one of those phrases that are specific to a family. My Dad likes to say "Sunny-dark, guys." when we're fighting. One of my favourite examples is "It's not sunny-dark!", meaning that the argument is valid.
At the time of this yarn, my brother Dave is three and a bit years old and I'm two. Craig is unborn, and does not feature here. At that age, our parents would drag us around in a trailer attached to my Dad's bike. The trailer still sees use to this day, hauling groceries. It is molded black plastic riveted to an aluminum frame, and quite well made. The best part here is that the name of the trailer is Bugger LuggerTM.
Alright so it's a beautiful day out at the lake, and the decree comes down that we're going for a bike ride. As it has been, and will continue to be, decreed. We get buckled in, because of course the Bugger LuggerTM has a seat belt, and off we go. Probably Dave is on my side, I don't remember. We ride along for a while, the sun is shining and people are smiling, probably saying hello to each other without fear. In general, it is the seventies.
When the sun is obscured by leaves, Dave and I begin our debate. Couched in terms that we know, our epic disagreement consists of two words. When the rays of that heavenly object strike us, one declares, "Sunny!" and when those rays hide in the trees, the other replies, "Dark!"
This story is referenced regularly, and has been for so long that a shorthand of it has become one of those phrases that are specific to a family. My Dad likes to say "Sunny-dark, guys." when we're fighting. One of my favourite examples is "It's not sunny-dark!", meaning that the argument is valid.
By the power of the carriage return, poetry.
I want to write poems about vast wastelands of
blasted earth, a place with no life.
It feels dishonest.
What words would I use to describe a place
without humanity?
They have been overused
long before I dreamt of dying.
What I seek to disenchant,
to craft, to commodify,
slips away from my febrile mind.
blasted earth, a place with no life.
It feels dishonest.
What words would I use to describe a place
without humanity?
They have been overused
long before I dreamt of dying.
What I seek to disenchant,
to craft, to commodify,
slips away from my febrile mind.
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