the streets of toronto
worn, bullied, catastrophic
always a memory
the place you threw pizza
on the ground
wishing it was me
the place where we recited
endless reams of poetry
the place where i worked
until the BIG LIE took hold
the place where they’ve now dug
and burrowed and holed
every street narrowed, bulwarked,
flagged, coned, piloned,
pocked, scarred and scattered–
streets that scream “go home!”
“you’re not wanted!”
unless you’re a tourist and then
“please ignore the mess,
and come spend your money anyway”
we are swerving to miss
the jaywalking grandmother
the carefree 30-something couple dragging
a child’s blanket like some comic book character
that guy on the corner with the microphone singing you can’t believe he’s still here after two years,
the man on one wheel,
the scooters on the gardiner,
the shooters in the school.


The secret to loving a city is controlling it, bending it to your will, forcing it to give you what you want.
Eventually after years of trodding the same concrete paths you believe you should be afforded your fetish. After all that’s what you suffer through for right?
The city must be made to pay for your suffering, your perils will likely be projected on to her. She’ll make you surrender though, bring you to your knees.
You’ll be begging for release before she’s through with you and in the end, Stockholm syndrome like, you love her for letting you go, bonded in solidarity of mutually assured destruction.

space junk

i sit here contemplating what will happen
we don’t get paid to think yet
waiting for the drones to plant trees
waiting for the gates to re-open slightly
peaking our way on to moonlit paths,
only brush sets us apart from the spiders’ webs
stumbling quietly so as not to upset the killers
distracted from the reality of uncertainty
and the naming of the enemy
that goes on in lovers’ lanes
over right-of-way arguments
where the sun never, never reaches
parks emit light pollution
and waterfalls spread foreign fires
thru forests of builders,
seeking an alternative to concrete
while plastic bricks rescued from ocean trash heaps
stare bleakly from lofty ideals
making great green blog posts
that might get read by most
before the 23 tons of steel & glass
pour down on our next emergency.
2021 by a.i.heeds

for the times

i can pay you from my profits
but the profits never come
the major airlines will get seven billion
but I am only one,
running a trade
turning the page
on a life of no change
we walk the streets talking
the girls and guys gawking
and all the while hawking
our most precious and divine
there is no time
we lost it all in storage
the landlords’ drama bored us
the winds and rains poured on us
and we were left in tents
we had no money for rents
we wanted to be nomadic
but we were constantly held by cabinet
to a rock on a road’s hard place
a locked ransom not in concrete
i cannot stand it
i feel they planned it
and what ever happens
i am going to be fucked
it’s enough
this is fucking rough
all the sheep are lost
and the boy, lonely on a hill,
has cried wolf
and wolves are killed
but there are no thrills
like taking back the homeland
re-occupying the highland
generating the skyland
i stand in sinking sand land
dunes richochet in

the most contraversial thing I’ve ever written, ha ha

they infected our minds one by one
i must be careful, i can’t get caught
wash my hands, watch the clock
wear a mask
don’t connect, we forget
when we can’t read faces,
the expression of the lips, the moth there is nothing, because we don’t look in eyes, haven’t done for a while
this is denial
of our human self
we are becoming robots, we are becoming self

digital age

we are in the age of the internet
the digital explosion
social media storm
we can all relate
to wifi free zones
cellphone pocket crutch doesn’t mean much
cuz its filter and mask
busy and task
endless projections
light filled deflections
getting way from what’s real
so you no longer know how you feel
endless projections
mindless inspections
binge watching netflix
skipping dinner late night snacks
playing over and over tracks
redefining pin boards
and income brackets
crossover hacks
niche follow backs

pushing to suceed
endless want and need
none of this is possible without satelites
without electricity
without skylights
and has beens
jealously and annoyance
silicone boyance
giffs and tiffs
public riffs
and coding
and floating
google always knows
facebook always shows
celebrity culture
all your wishes and hopes
causes and copes
algorithm slopes

redeem your self worth
because sometimes
even Instagram hurts

trying to let you know that you should do other things.

lied to their faces

we don’t know how
but there is
a place
as dirty as that
we don’t know how
we have contributed
to make it so
we have given a directive
from the holo deck
we are hollow
like trees
by more than a breeze
a common earth
a land
a just desert
a flooded valley
forgotten stream
tear drop
in an ocean
of this shirt must be clean
so try as we might
to make ourselves seem
we are not pure
we are not clean
we carry the degradation
every day on the inside
we go to the beautiful places
who no longer hide
their scars and their sorrows
their devastation
so lied
to their faces
too tried
to their cries.

we live on the edge

of the contamination zone
decontamination zone
we live in the zone
we zone out in the no man’s zone
we are alone
wearing wool sweaters
our pinup primeminister makes proclaimation
culturally appropriating arts and letters
a step ahead of the tsunami,
the tide is coming in
the moon waning
as the cheshire grins
he wins!
last night
way outta sight
might do all right
if we just stay in

while we’re trying

because we can say things other people can’t
because we are real
because we care
because we don’t care
about stupid stuff
because we have ideas
coming out the ying yang

because we can code
and no I don’t mean that code
although some uv us (like me)
can do a bit o dat too
(more on that l8r)
we can speak the code
of imagery
we see past the idolatry
because I am me

we are the ultimate rhetoricians
and I actually had rhetoric in my degree
but i’m stuck in a fame-freeze
a frame-freeze
liquid nitrogen emotional spill
the yellow cake tastes really good
riding the current in my rubber wheel
swiftly down the st.laurent I float
perdre la raison

I am from Toronto
look at me, look at me
I am here.

Walk around me.
I am a tank.
I am a killer.
I transfer my body odour into toxic fumes
I am subsumed.

why do we need poets,
to look at the big picture, when we already know it,
why their cynicism attempts to de-rail us
collisions & carnage only broadcast once
never to remind us of the wasteland
we live in
the junk carts
and the has beens.

all of a sudden the news is very, very bad
saudis have pulled out of iran
putin claims we are the eneemy we hear
we see him hunt and fish and swear

we relate to the haters
we understand we are lucky bitches
gratitude and humour and positive attitude stickers
scratch and sniff to win the big one
planet is dying while we’re trying to steal some
sun for the mars that haunts our nightmares
waking to find that it isn’t over yet

beyond measure