poem

strategy

the friend of my enemy my friend

criss crossing over hills ‘n bends

were they ever in danger of freezing

or were they ever in danger of death?

we are beasts of enlightenment

whatever we think that might be

translucent bugs coming out of it’s

shell of 221 years –

to mate with the ancestral peers

3 cheers & a who-ra

any day it’s a night

in a house in the sky

they can stay there indefinitely,

but at least til 2030

when the space time continuum runs out

because there are 644 meanings

and secret liason meetings,

i’m in the broom closet mating

and you’re back where you belong

hating

me

 

poem

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,
emblazoned,
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.

poem

troll

Quote

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.

poem

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

poem

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,
person
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

Uncategorised

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

Uncategorised

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
platform
and coding
surfing
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.

Uncategorised

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
connected
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
together
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!
scored
last night
way outta sight
might do all right
if we just stay in

beyond measure