HALIBUT

A distant relative at your wedding. Don’t wait for the water to turn to wine. Don’t wait for more cake to be served. Tomasina Salmon

Beside your playing cards in the china cabinet triple depth of ornaments. A Niagara Falls snowball from her brother collects dust. He’s the one you once said you’d shoot if so much as his shadow crossed your land. He never visited again, travelled past at noon or night, to keep his shadow tail tucked under him. That ball might have meant something to her brother. She wanted it on spec while cleaning out of his possessions into the fire barrel’s rounded black lip. She recounted pulling apart tapes, breaking the magnetic strip without watching any of it, sure it was contemptible. Yet she needed a piece of him that was clean as snow, hermetically sealed. Maybe she fought for it against a sister who knew “it weren’t worth much”, but would be worth more to both of them if they argued for it. The spirit of auction excitement must have perked up the shoveling of books, music notes, letters into flames.     auction receipts     to get a th...

light passing through iceland spar

sorta

recalculating the distance between here & now & then kjmunro

Do you hear me now? I’d change my angle to the phone receiver as if that would make the difference in your hearing. Your earlobes were American pancake fleshy. The right had a recurrent fester, a boil on the bottom right back that would swell yellow, a small thimble of pressure  until you’d ask me to get the needle and kleenexes and lance it. It burst like a puffball,  but these spores were a goo, scent of abscess, sense of relief.  But what our body injures, it needs. It regrows.     ground cherries –     making a new pile     for the soft ones Pearl Pirie

Sound is an independent ingredient … It’s an additional cinematic quality. I like scratches too. They look like rain.               — Dušan Makavejev I try to write about a one-night stand, but all I can remember are the whisky-drunk gropes and your name set on the night table along with your keys. One got lost in the dark. The other fell to the floor and was found by morning. A poet from the Ming dynasty writes about a one-night stand. The poet includes the fleeting happiness of the moment, the salinity of separation, and the dipping moon. The night is audible, as heard by the clock striking midnight, and the mandarin ducks down by the water that grind against each other until all the plum flowers are gone . Gillian Sze -from Panicle (ECW Press 2017)

Posy, poésie --  Who will drink wine of pressed cyclamens! Tomasina Salmon

I want us to be together forever condom on a glue-stick Phil Hall Otty Lake 2017