sweet nothin’

guardian of a million thoughts

i woke up yesterday with this line in my head

gobbling jelly by shelley on my gluten free baguette
“feed my tochondria fat not sugar”

i love watching the Rock Shadows ladies fight for their lives
in exercise class like i am

i stop. look at it as if i’ve never seen it before, or shall again

in the memorial service for all the Rock Shadows occupants that have died this year, i overhear the congregation sing “i’ll fly away” while on the radio, a backtrack “wanted, wanted, dead or alive”

google will conquer death

nothin’ to slow me down more than pullin’ a rib out this morn
when i was hugging the dog

slightly grateful for the injury
and icing the hell out me arse

in the old days with endometrial issues
i could get stoned, miss school, read, write all day in bed
i would walk to the kitchen & think “what did i come in here for?”

now i can do that without a buzz

are you paying attention?

i’m finding it hard to write
keep getting distracted by the net
cuz’ when i write, i use the same machine

Betsy Warland doesn’t check her email
til she’s done a few hours of writing

but none of you are having that problem
or the glued to Netflix problem

if only there was nothing but beauty on tv
like Joni Mitchell’s 75th birthday party
& smart tv’s stopped spying

the prince and princess have left the castle
and the driver causing the Humboldt accident will be deported

in Starbucks, to get on wi-fi, one must give them one’s name / email

my memory of temperature began as a child
the air temperature in Apache Junction today is 61 degrees fahrenheit

it hit sixty-eight degrees during my favourite Easter at Nanny and Papa’s in Half-Moon Bay. Jane & i suntanned out on the front porch twenty feet above the eternal ocean

when it hits sixty-eight degrees in Vancouver, i calm down
Townes Van Zandt says the sun is burning out

at the pool, i pretend i’m alone
under palm fronds that lean my way like ears
clouds like lazy eyes ride the west wind, the sun
more powerful than Fukoshima

where is our ocean protection plan?

my daylight delight, wind on skin, ptarmigan (begin again) song
Joan Baez’ birds have flown

my face is dangerously poised towards the sun
in 1974, i’d skip class at Windsor
lay on foil in the snow on Mt. Seymour
to mask my pizza face

a skin tag fell out of my manubrium this week
(Nicole Brossard’s favorite part of a woman’s body)

& if you leave Canada for six months
it will take two years to see a dermatologist
where is our skin protection plan?

hands folded on my stomach on the chaise lounge
do i relax? no i write this blog. call it ‘doin’ nothin’

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