fragment four

. . . adoration to away. . .


I see you sleeping on the screen

where we give the time ahead some

lighter things to hold

limbs of hope stem from the connections

tremendous frameworks

that span the gap and the noise

scores of nations

patchwork landscapes

frenzies of minds

and, even greater, all the common threads

I see all that you and I can do

occidentframe four

lit balconies













perpendicular

fragment three

a clumsy fury with the end of the week's boxes

then a final outflux of exultant workers, hurried words, shared plans, excitement in many tongues, a pleasant weariness in drifting out and aspiring for collected days

a journey interspersed with repose and libations before another, an interlude of steeped words

on the higher roadways, the sleek, the new, the empty, the bland, the great valleys through, always with metal blurs, flagrant celerity

then a rush to lower land, stores, stashes, and clans further down, swift flight with floundering effects of consumption

foggy once it is all achieved, unsure of the next course, what could be sequentially attained, who could be found to forage for textured experiences

taken things in, wander out in a corporeal and an intangible sense to elements: sills, stones, weeds, paths, edges, windows, stucco, hues, balconies, arches, buds, limbs, crossbars, gatherings, canopies, propylons, ways

in there might be a resolution in the release of knowing what I have and have not in the moment

there is still the gleam along all edges, bolstering lines west

occidentframe three

transient space

brick way bin

fragment two

the tones that hold me
cyclical sensations of comfort
from this life and lives before
familiar friends meeting
gentle beds of grey lulling rooms
a deep voice sparely whispers, "it's alright."
and it is now
antiquity
settled
tepid and peaceful

occidentframe two

strip through

light spire

fragment one

I know I was once full of fear, thirteen,
aware of being at the bottom, scrutinized,
frantic to follow rules and hide in a hoodie

I remember an anxious trip
through the river valley
for lost reasons,
and a lost library book

I don’t remember all my homeroom teachers

I remember the streets where I wasn’t,
a guy in a composed grey leather jacket
hanging out of a car window,
a girl draped in floral patterned blouse
out of an old dream,
and impossible tights,
I remember sandy hair,
spare rooms and half empty bottles,
and feeling like it was all too soon,
but none of these last things are my memories

occidentframe one

barrier door

copy home

tuneresponding six

["Two sips from the cup of human kindness and I'm shit-faced, just laid to waste." -Use It, New Pornographers]

There were dark moments in the last year of high school: uncertainty, chaos, and a chilling kind of drift in everything and everyone I knew, that meant I would lose home and lose people that I loved. But, there were redeeming small memories to augment my life at that time.

There were afternoons spent lounging and leaping on the trampoline in the backyard near the sumac grove. There were calming walks on needled paths through the forest that was. My friends would visit and we would explore the fields and forests and rivers in the remote area where I lived.

I remember the night after prom and the gathering of all my friends in a cabin owned by my dad’s family. We ran through the yard in the night and the wet grass. We all lounged around on the mattresses set out in the cabin, snacking on too much food provided. I was half awake and talking in my sleep that evening, fatigued by the frenzy around the time. I was happy that my prom date was a good friend and that there was no intrigue or confusion surrounding romantic intentions of the event. I remembering trekking through the field at night with her, when she had a headache and we were seeking painkillers back at the house. It was a surreal calm night amidst the seething end of high school.

I can think of many great drives through town with my dad. He would pretend to swerve at crows. I didn’t really care when he wanted to smoke with the window open. He would pick me up from school and listen to my afterschool radio broadcasts from the parking lot while he waited for me (possibly one of five listeners). I could listen to whatever I wanted, and he enjoyed hearing new music I liked, as I also enjoyed hearing his old favourites. Sometimes we would go for drives randomly to get some ice cream from a small local dairy bar. I remember us talking about what songs meant, or about politics, or social issues, or debating any number of things.

It’s indulgent and lulling and heartening to hold onto these more pleasant thoughts, even amidst the sometimes turbulent sequences of a changing life.