Windy Thursday Morning Congé Montréal

Chaotic traffic hums. 727 prepares for landing. Fingers laptop tap-dancing. The sniffle of my girlfriend. Coffee on my breath. A Crow caws. Silence except the city. The tap-dancing slows. A gust of wind chills my toes, waltzing across my arm-hairs. Tickling and itching. The morning light indirectly floods the room through the skylight. The same one that highlighted that sweet full moon last night. The laptop whirs quietly. She clears her throat. We say nothing. We just sit. I write. Her fingers tap-dance on her clavier. I watch her little finger pointing in the air, far away as if the rest of her fingers were holding a cup of tea, not tap-dancing. 'I Love You'. I say. ' I Love You Too' She says. 'I love you more.' I say. 'I love you more too.' She says.




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homes (in haiku series)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Refugee


http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424127887323932604579052742703621858

improvising so

perfectly disturbedly

imperfecting art

all those targets hit

like precise deadly darts

tear their worlds apart

innocent people

all over this insane world

are cut from their lives

they have clothes and feet

hands to hold one another

up from falling down

indifference closing

doors on suffering and poor

humans with no choice

if i could i would

let every single one know

i cry and pray too

i would hold them close

and long as they cried their songs

of the hope they lost

now more than ever

we need to open our worlds

as much as our hearts

giving in to hate

is giving hatred a name

and an evil face

give our love and our

love will give life a chance to

flourish a life lived






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photo from the wall street journal

 

M. Mr.

random fun

peepholes

Leyeon

eye can see clearly like you...

there's just no fog around me...





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Homage to V

my four-hundred and twentieth post

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No more Steve in office, officially, today

thank the gods

k e e p r e a c h i n g

the space between things is the same thing

 

You are what you are

understand then that only you can determine the thinks that you think

thoughts thither and hither in threes and threads of things thinly lined out

forever frequenting furnaces that filter the finer feathers of falsehoods 

flying through feeble failures, fermenting in furbished follies.

forget your feelings of dread

spit out the syllables and feelings of individualistic refrain

just be for a moment

without wondering why or when

worship yourself as you are

as you were made

all parts of you

will win whether you will or won't

there is no thing that is best