here are a couple new pomes. haven't been writing much lately, been pursuing other creative activities, and i suspect my brain can only accommodate so many things at once. getting a bit older you know?
anyways, here they are, enjoy my lovelies.
The skeetch Indian:
On the public transit heading
Downtown
I meet an Indian dude
Who tells me he’s heading
To the oil rigs soon
As he just passed the
Physical and drug tests
Even though he ripped a couple
Big fat rails a couple days before
The tests
And he told me about smoking crack
And how it never got it’s claws
Into him
Which made me think of scabby
And that girl I wrote about
A long time ago
And how I recently saw them both
Scabby looked the same
On and off the rock and heroin
The girl look good
Healthy and happy
Glowing even as she picked up groceries
Where I most recently saw her
And as the bus weaved through town
Me and the Skeetch NDN
We talked about work
And how much
We both hated this town
And how there was no money here
And this was a place where people came to die
And then he was gone
Off the bus
And I was staring out the window
At the grey skies
Wondering what I was going to do next
With my life.
A pipeline to god:
In every needle
In every crack pipe
In every bottle
In every cigarette
In every city
There is a pipeline to god.
At least
That’s what they think
And that’s why
They keep chasing it
Down every city street
Every dark alley
Every whorehouse
And dime bag
Again and again
I don’t know if it’s addiction
Or malnutrition
Or capitalism
Or a poor upbringing
By fucked up parents
In a fucked up society
But I do know
They are on a pipeline
To god
And I don’t judge them
On that
Because I’m on my own
Pipeline to god
And there is nothing
You can do about it.
and in case you were being a paranoid fuck, ART is my pipeline to god. yeesh.
cb
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