MORT.

mort
never present in thoughts
always rolling along

not in circles
nor in triangles
with no direction yet to be caught

mort
yet with knowledge of what shall come
and what is always carrying us along

no intimacy
nor charity
just a chariot abandoned

mort
lost in future's thoughts
livid obituaries to read from

mort
some less important then others
same direction in different shapes
so when will you realize
what you carry on?

pablo neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep

- Pablo Neruda

let this be

knowing what of sweet and sugar
knowing nothing of such a concept
feeling through blindly
to a source once known as childish

sweeping through the boroughs of Stanley
letting go of that which is frightening
wondering of that story yet
a key worth opening

in these words
let there be a remedy
in your fears
leave the enemy
let this be a remedy

chris garneau.

provoke

say it,
before we reach that seventh plane of energy
or that 11th stage of expressive anatomy
say it,
before we reach that seventh plane of energy
or that 11th stage of expressive anatomy

provoke some imagery
provoke some mystery
provoke some energy

a message to be sent to the sky
from me

say it,
feed upon it
yet , i am hungry

i don't mind.
i don't bother worrying now
this is how it shall be

but

say it, before we reach that eternal nothing.

the gnostic in me.

the gnostic in me

is

ascending
dethroning

some kind of angel

slightly

shifting
diluting

the gnostic in me

a

fleeting
feeling
flailing
failing
forcing

the gnostic in me

an ancestoring synergy

that tastes and fades
into those flavours
more becoming.

the gnostic in me.

brillo boxes.

a little pilgrim is a wholesome gift

a dash of glitter sooths that which does not last

a soft speckle from that which does not shine

a little pilgrim is a wholesome gift

a kinder suprise for those on time

a little pilgrim is a wholesome gift

with a weathered pleat, and a diamond's kitsch.