What do any of us leave when
we leave this world except a
blemish, that is, a smear on the face
of Time that may appear further along
in the sphere of  someone else who recalls
its authenticity in the form of say a word, an
image, a remark, a posture of body that enters
likely by Chance thru a corridor of Memory in
association with other factors  or none
and then passes on again without us really
having had anything to do with it at all? We live on
despite ourselves in pieces and our fame,
justified or not,  prevails.


Amanda Todd

There is a part missing

We will never understand

The space inside and the space


The way the signs collide

If there are any signs at all.

She was her mother’s favourite

A child as fresh as a meadow’s breath

With aspirations and infatuations

that made her death


One of those the Fates intended

To fall into strangers’ hands

To be marked for her simple manner

The way she loved and the way

She danced.


The vile reaches of a vacuous public

The product of a bankrupt estate

Ripped at this flower on a constant basis

Until not much was left to chance.


She withstood their brutal plundering

In the shadows of the human touch

A martyr for what is decent

In an age of much mistrust,


She trusted


The lies hurled by rabid children

Against her reputation and grace

wounded her once too often

Touched her in a tender place


And caused a commotion of feelings

To rise up from her core.

She eventually succumbed to the bleakness

She could no longer endure


Yet not until she had relayed her story

In a most public domain

Did anyone go out of their way

To try to understand the pain

Of the ages


The plight of the young

The mysteries of a hatred

That is with us so strong.


I wait for the summons.

When it arrives I comply

And enter the chapel.

I sit like a king removed

listening to the thin silence

Draw me back into the

The mysteries  and wonder

What artwork to expect fashioned

This day by the devil’s mouth,

what shapes will the body of

the snake take on , whether pointed,

or curved like punctuation, or rather

coiled almost seamlessly into an O.

I don’t know.

Death’s needs hold sway,

It’s odors must speak sweet

And fill up the air as in a stable

Or a house of ill –repute.

My back arches like The Thinker

Elbows grinding into tops of thighs.

The light is weak.

Then I jut vertical to open

To give the babies passage

And kick back.

They rush to oblige, creating

A symphony, besides, dropping

plop plop into the drink.

I think, that is enough.

But no, wait, I was wrong,

Another comes along to

join the song.

And yet, another follows.

Oh, my! I sigh, I must’ve had too

Much for dinner.

One day, I vow, I will be thinner.

At least, I’m lighter.

And now the party’s over.

Time to tidy up.

That’s less fun but has to be done.

Scroll down.

The white pages, the tugs and pinches,

the moustache all coated.

Fingers probe, scoop up the soil.

Acknowledge it’s the wet season.

How much to stem the flood? This

Is becoming drudgery! Pad after pad.

But look how bright we’re getting!

Maybe another roll will do it.

Finally, yes, here it is: unblemished. Pristine.

Not a hint of muck. Good as new.

I stand. Roll up. Buckle tight. Proudly,

Focussing down, I lean on the handle

And with sadness wave my goodbyes.


Press your finger
Feel the pain.
It’s not right
Until it comes again.

The wash of yesterdays
The fields of blame.
They never let you
End this game.

You stand up to it
Mouth in clench.
Never resting
On any bench.

You laugh and dance
You work the crowd.
You don’t much worry
If you do it loud.

And then you retire
To your cell and ponder
Where and when and how
You wonder.


The situation is
I am living inside a hat
But I’m not a head.
What I am instead
is hard to say.
I have fallen
to reason
Everything is as it always was and it won’t go
The rain pelts the window into pinkness.
What can I do:
Hide inside a cabinet,
Exercise my options?
There is not one good measure that can alleviate
the general disquiet.
Sit in the middle of it.
It will pass.
It will return


If you were mine

I would advise you

To wear your skin

Like a window

Lightly and transparent


A hard flower underneath

Cultivated thru discipline.

You are just nineteen

And you relish all eyes

On your surfaces

A radiance that sings

like the sun.

What glory to behold

For a moment in the day!

But you can I know

Feel the harsh reaches of time

Already clawing from close- by.

Don’t deny

that you can

And if you can’t you will

be shattered.

So be wise

Be wise and be kind

And find

A  centre.


Why trouble yourself?

It will just be over and you will say:

Was it worth it?

Any of it?

The memories will not even be enough

To keep you aloft.

They will be muddled and dim,

If anything

Inviting derision.

Why bother?


Because what else is there to do?

There is a drill in my head now

And I can’t escape it.

Oh, it stopped.

Oh,it started again.


What next? a telephone call from hell?

I am tired of talking to robots.

I am weary of playing the clown.

I can’t help you.

You can’t help me.

And yet…and yet

What else will there be?


It is too…

No it isn’t

It is too…

Not that surely not too

Maybe not.

Why not?

I can’t hear you

It’s a long…


I want…


It is so …


Good bye.


Not long,  far.

Long too

Not too…


Is it, really?


Not too far.


It is.

You think so?

I know


Is true.

You do?

I do.

I do, too.

You don’t, you only think you do.

I don’t think, I know.



How far?



You think.

I knew that.




You told me.

I don’t believe you.

Believe me.

How can I?

Just do.

I won’t believe you, you always…


Make mistakes

Mistakes? You think so?

I said so.

I know you said so,but what do you think?

I’m not sure.

It’s true?

How can I ?


Believe you.

You can.

I can but I don’t want to.


Yes, oh.

That’s a different matter.

It is a different matter entirely.

Yes, are we there?

You don’t believe me, so don’t ask.

What ?


Don’t talk, watch.

I will.


The poles.

Yes, the poles.

The sky.

The farms.

The cows.


The horizon.

Yes, good.

The hori…

Don’t talk,talk corrupts, okay?