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If I gave these poems titles
I’d be telling you what direction to take with them
You tell me


If I stopped to take a photo
Of every beautiful thing I smell, I see
I’d never arrive, not even eventually

Cows with their calves
Wet mud and sweet manure
Never-ending fresh cut grass
Wooden wagon wheels and wild grass

In front of the fairest farmhouses
With barns in the back.
Kids kicking balls with families who wave as I pass

Trees alive with a hundred outstretched arms
Beckoning, embracing, waving me past
Always passing through.


« Tequila! »
The old man on the creaky bike
As he pedalled by
At nine something in the morning.
The bike with thirty plastic shopping bags
Hanging from the handlebars
With a stereo, a ghettoblaster!
Duct taped to the rack on the back.
Playing tunes as he rides by
« Tequila! » He shouts.
No doubt.


Saw a sign
Six fifty
Searched later but I couldn’t find it
I’ve thought about it every day
Been keeping an eye out
Gave up
Had spaghetti elsewhere
But I’ll never know how that other spaghetti tastes.


Young man sitting on the curb
Big, empty lot
Gravel and grass
Hot tin roofs and stone houses
Stop the Enbridge oil line!
Here a church, there a church
Venez à moi
There’s no escaping You!
Curly fries style thin metal staircases
Rainy skies
Gentle waywardness
Ubiquitous Lord and outstretched arms
Come to me
No matter what day, what time I pass,
That couple is sitting in the driveway
While the cars and people go by
Are they watching television or am I!?


I paid all my taxes
Three years’ worth
I paid off my credit card
That won’t last but it felt good
I’m trying to save money
Well I can’t drink so that’s a built-in bundle
Been laying on the grass all day
Listening to Gymnopaedie
And Buckley and Ave Maria and Foals
Reading Bukowski
Writing poetry
My biggest decision of the day
What to have for dinner
Good, free food at home
Home home home home HOME!
I’m not paying for the spaghetti
I’m paying to get out of the house!


You see concrete
I see canvas
A dandelion is a weed!
Sure looks like a flower to me
You say boredom
I say freedom from strife
In fact gluttonous worrisomenessless
You say you could NEVER live without your car
I say you don’t know what living really is!
If you can’t imagine life without a car
My dear, you are too far removed from your humanity
You’re becoming humannessless


I’m going to watch the whales.
Do I buy the binoculars?
They cost less than a gram of cocaine.
I buy the binoculars.


I’m filling my water bottle in the sink
In the washroom of the movie theatre
And the lady gives me a look
And I give HER a look
Don’t you know about « white water?! »
It’s all the same pipes!


And then I rush home to recharge my iPhone
I call it a healthy dose of hypocrisy
I do have to live here after all.


I walk two point two kilometres to the restaurant
Three sunny side up eggs, two sausages, brown toast with butter, peanut butter, and raspberry jam
I walk two point two kilometres home
I walk two point two kilometres to the park
I lay out for four hours, drinking water, eating an apple, eating seeds, nuts and raisins, listening to music, reading poetry, writing poetry
I walk two point two kilometres home.
I walk two point two kilometres to the restaurant
I eat a plate of white spaghetti with meat sauce
There’s water on the plate under the spaghetti
I angle my plate to pool the water to one side
I dip my napkin in and let the water slowly seep up
I continue eating the spaghetti
I finish it
It was good.
I walk two point two kilometres home.


I recognize that sound.
It’s a can of beer.
Someone on their upstairs veranda
Of their upstairs only house
I somewhat see him through the slats.
And on the way back
The couple in the driveway are still there
« Rebonjour, Madame! »
And their tires are still for sale.
And then a man with a clean buzz cut of bristly, silver hair
Crosses to my side of the street
And he has a can of beer in his hand
It’s the man from between the slats.
And as he passes
I see he has a long rat’s tail
A full foot of it!
I keep walking.
Wondering who will ever buy those tires.


We were all waitresses
And she said, « As soon as you turn forty, everything starts to go. »
And I had the confidence that only a stupid young idiot can have
And I thought, « Yeah, maybe for YOU. »
And I knew it would be different for me
And many years passed
And I was smug and I was right
And then I got into the elevator
Those mirrors!
And those fucking unforgiving fluorescent lights!
There is no warning
Just one day, there they are
Avoidance of the fucking fluorescent lights!
Effects on photos before posting
And a few more years pass
And I’m still snickering
Because I’m still pretty young and definitely still an idiot
And I turn forty
And I’m still laughing
Laughing, laughing, laughing!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…!
But the laughs are empty
The laughs are hollow
So hollow!
The laughs are echoing
And I realize I’m laughing alone
And I’m looking in the mirror
And that fucking waitress was right!
Said the wise old idiot.


Back of the bus
Something catches my eye
It’s books!
Cell phones
La di da!
I don’t name my poems
But if I did
I’d call this one
You see!


One last church
Before I leave
In case I’m wrong
For their majesty
And I heard music
But it was pigeons moaning
The door was locked
Instead I went
To the second-hand book store


I think
There is
Some small sick part
That enjoys the attention
Of the psychopath
But then it passes
But not for the psycho


I remember appetite
I watch them eat
Looks like sickening self-indulgence
From here
With these new eyes
With my empty stomach
My flat, flat stomach
My empty heart
My flat, flat heart
Stolen stomach, heavy heart
Card stock paper heart
Folded up
Paper airplane
Brief little glide
Too short a ride
Straight up
Straight down
Nose dive


Mommy loves you
I don’t know if you understand
I look at the sky
I don’t think it works that way
But still it’s true.


I need to stop
Flash mobbing people with my
Best friends, old friends
Acquaintances, ex-lovers
Lovers again
Paying with my soul for ears
Paying with my body and tears
That’s life
He said
He’s a doctor
And he knows
That’s life
That’s how it goes
And those simple words helped
And I do think
It was the last throws
Of my woes
That, too, saddens me
It’s healing
How time fades the memory
Any pain
But I don’t want it to
Always want to keep your joy near
Even if I must keep it
In the most painful clutch.


When will I forget you?
I feel guilty asking
It’s the last thing I want
And each time I get drunk
I remember but not as much
And that, too, is sad.


Canned corn
Canned tuna
Canned pasta
Clementines and apples
Protein bars and pickles
Nuts and seeds
A can opener
Plastic spoons
And beautiful, hot water


He was charming
I was lonely
And a bit stupid
That’s it
You don’t know what you don’t know
The terrible mess
The beautiful loneliness

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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