#CanadianWriters
There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder your mother the rain
Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry the slick filling of aches and cav… you are not my doctor
Evening comes on and the hills thi… red and yellow bleaching out of th… The chill pines grow their shadows… Below them the water stills itself… a sunset shivering in it.
When you hear me singing you get the rifle down and the flashlight, aiming for my… but you always miss and when you set out the poison
Gone are the days when you could walk on water. When you could walk. The days are gone. Only one day remains,
She reclines, more or less, Try that posture, it’s hardly lang… Her right arm sharp angles. With her left she conceals her amb… Shoes but not stockings,
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size fo… blanks in speech, for those red he… shaped vacancies on the page that… like real hearts. Add lace
An other sense tugs at us: we have lost something, some key to these things which must be writings and are locked against us
Those whose houses were burned burned houses. What else ever happ… once you start? While the roofs plunged into the root-filled cellars,
This is the place you would rather not know about, this is the place that will in hab… this is the place you cannot imagi… this is the place that will finall…
More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, in… you, if possible through the skin like a cool plant’s tricks with ox…
My daughter plays on the floor with plastic letters, red, blue & hard yellow, learning how to spell, spelling,
i The children on the lawn joined hand to hand go round and round each arm going into
My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn’t the moon warm enough for you why do you need
She squats, bare feet splayed out, not graceful; skirt tucked around ankl… Her face is lined and cracked. She looks old,