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fish hatchery and the history of grocery stores

27 Jun

i jotted the words fish hatchery and the history of grocery stores down today never intending to weave them into a poem.

Let’s deal with fish hatchery first. OK, some guy at work kept saying, “I grow fish in my backyard.” He said it over and over, musta been 10 times. I have no idea why he said it, but it got me thinking of those fish raising zones and I knew there was a word for it, but it wouldn’t come to me and then it did, so I wrote it down – fish hatchery.

Now the history of grocery stores. OK, Costco? Kosko? However you spell that place….I was there this past weekend and with all the people and cars and karts, all that traffic and mad dash, I got to thinking about the history of grocery stores. I reminded myself to jot that down so I could look it up later on. But it slipped my mind and didn’t return until I remembered fish hatchery today.

I guess when you rack your brain to remember something and then remember it, some cortex or whatever you call it is tickled and other things can then be remembered.

So here i sit behind the computer thinking about these things – fish hatchery and the history of grocery stores and maybe there’s a poem in there somewhere, but it’s not coming to me right now.

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fleeting airlines says you are free to move about the cabin

19 Jun

i think i’ll put aside all paranoia and self doubt and
think about how great certain people are.

Jong and Trump dancing

3 Dec

I work with a lot of people from the Philippines. They told me about training spiders as kids or not training them, but starving them and then pitting them against each other like cock fights. I guess it was a pre-TV, pre internet, pre-smart phone past time. It got me thinking about Donald Trump and Kim Jong. I have nothing against the good old people from the United States or North Korea. In fact, I suspect there are great poets and singers from both places, great people who work in factories from both places too. It’s just Donald Trump and Kim Jong that don’t like each other. So I have an idea. Why don’t we pick a neutral country and city, say Tokyo Japan where as they say, the two leaders can settle their differences, dress up in Sumo Wrestler gear with the thick thong and what not or since neither one of them probably knows the Sumo technique, they could square off in a cage match. What will probably happen is that they’ll discover they’re exactly the same, that they both suffer and bleed. Then, we can go back to a never before normal, that is, citizens of North Korea can discover American writers and poets and citizens of the United States can discover North Korean writers and poets.

the switchman

28 May

i sit in the bathtub,
not too often,
but the next time i do,
i will watch the water slither towards the drain and
remember that
water wears down everything and
it will do me too.
then after that,
i’ll exit the tub,
dry off,
and cut some vegetables in the nude.

painting by colorsetbrushes

flat lines dancing with vital signs

26 Apr

Our stubbed toes, cardboard cuts, dangerous heart rhythms, liver failures and so on body’s decay marinates our minds for the end
to love our lovers.

creature of seasons gush

29 Mar

the seagulls sky loiter above the grocery store parking lot,
soaring.
no ocean needed.
no garbage dumps either,
there they are,
flying,
uncontrollable singing
in tandem with
crow bass beat booms sudden.
the wind is warm or warmer.
i take my time,
i watch some fellow humans limp along.
i play spacier music on my headphones,
magnetic fields
i want the beer i buy to last forever.
the northern industry and efficiency is done.
bathing suits soon.
this season.
this may be the one.
i already bought some light bulbs.
soon i’ll open the windows.

if i smoked tobacco

23 Mar

i used to know this guy who fueled his Volkswagen car with vegetable oil. I don’t remember if it was a VW Jetta or a VW Golf, but for the sake of this story it doesn’t matter. We were driving to Ontario to visit a friend of his who lived in a barn. The friend sold me a copy of ‘Satan in Goray’ for a buck or two, but what I remember most is driving back to Montreal and seeing tobacco out the window. The leaves were wrinkly looking, like an elephant ear probably looks like. It got me thinking.

If I smoked tobacco, I’d find a patch of land and plant some and go back there with a lawn chair and talk to the stalks or leaves or however tobacco comes to be and when it was ripe and brown and ready to be dried and rolled, i’d bring it back to the city and sit on a porch or a patio and smoke it as the sun was going down and during every exhale and sigh, i’d feel glad about nothing in particular.

sweet flaky ash
tumbling out of existence

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