The Abandoned Station






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Mumblings and/or Poetry, Late 2016

Like mentioned on the other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh)

NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-exactly-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions


God Show Me Darkness

God show me darkness

So I can appreciate the light

So I can remember the touch of warmth

As we slide into the night


God show me darkness

So I can understand the fear

So I can avoid the same mistakes

Of what has got me here


God show me darkness

So I can lose my sense of self

So I can see past my obstacles

And keep the soul in perfect health


God show me darkness

So I can show pity towards another

So when I know what he is going through

He can become my brother


God show me darkness

So I can have memory of cold

So when it's time for me to breathe

It's still something I can hold


God show me darkness

So I can feel my pumping heart

So when I know my ending

I'll see just where to start




Mississauga Stabbing

I'm here for a Mississauga stabbing

The sort of breathing that stays in the shallow end

With all the warmth of a forgotten garbage fire

And a flat tail light smoking out behind the portables


I'm here for a Mississauga stabbing

Because the food gets wetter with age

Pushing the boundaries and furniture against the door

When the fathers made headway into the discount wind


I'm here for a Mississauga stabbing

Which gets caught between floors and ribs

The decision is entirely up in the charcoal air

Looking good when the authorities are somewhere else


I'm here for a Mississauga stabbing

To invalidate everything and keep it steady

With a incredible statistic dangling at my side

Free from harm until the bleary morning sun


I'm here for a Mississauga stabbing

Because I've forgotten where I put my heart

Perhaps the blade can point it out to me

And leave a friendly note upon the door





I made sure the sun came up in the morning

You just sat in the back row and refused to clap

I double checked that the horns played the proper warning

You just waited on the porch to sit on the milkman's lap


I counted all the sheep and sheared them true

You partied into the dawn with half-finished nightmares

I filled the bowls and gave the trinkets to the few

You collected your clothes upon the beach among seagull stares


I promised the moon and delivered the stars

You offered the real estate in the back of the shed

I trained my animals to ignore the heavy duty scars

You left your pets nothing but flowers for the dead




A Good Sign

We had a good sign

Always held it high

Was never gonna leave

Didn't have to lie


We drank the fresh wine

Passed it 'round like the sun

Wiped one too many sleeves

And then the night was won


We assumed the long line

Was the new kind of waste

The way it bobbed and weaved

The front was sullied and the tail was chaste


I've got the money honey

If you've got the oily rags

I'll make a pact with the man in the alley

And you just gotta pack your bags


God's curses in the hearses

An attack on you and me and mine

Making a pass with broken glass

Under the motel sign


There's been these sorts of stories

That all the world's conspired on

Made peace with all the constants

And the variables we lied upon


I had my hand on sentences

I even edited paragraphs

I put in tears of joy and pain

And removed low hanging laughs



When You Find What You Want

And leaving with the clicks the snapping of the joints that sounds that cry rhythm the words that mean worlds

Starting with more

Stating with less

A careful tongue is dying one

When you find what you want you realize it's not what you need

When you find what you need you realize the point's fallen right off


Fallen on hard times and broken clocks

Little switches I hide in my wrists because I don't trust sleeves

Did I sleep

Did I sleep

Or did I wait

Time as weapon

Frozen in your palm

Hands of the midnight sun

Holding down the lines

Double-cum gorgeous

You dropped it before you got it


Waiting on the half-forgotten dreams

And the flashlights they require

To cut down the cobwebs to a committee approved level

To give the knickerbocker proxy ghost second thoughts

To bless the cold corners with scientifically approved shadow slashers


I am on the winded stairs

I can see a house from here

I made sure the walls were paper

I followed the old new dog home

I got the tooth out in time


I'll swallow my mistakes

I'll rebuild the kitchen table

I'll wait until and through the rain

I'll find the better parts

And love you all the same


I want a storm before the calm

To get the whole thing over with

I need to turn into something great

I can feel your hallway echoes

And know the sound of fate


All the valuables

Forced into coffins

Torn about by wolves

Left in the wayside

Perforated with drownedable holes


All the manuals

Burned in sacrifice

Touched by fools

Ignored by the ignorant

Repudiated by convenient personnel



In fields of cool green plenty

I let my shadow fall along the trees

My hands are left lost in the taller grasses

My sides stuck right through the middle path


In pregnant city streets

I sail above the sewer grates and sour gutters

My phone refuses to heed my directions

My keys are praying for a mugging or stop and frisk


In sedate pastel-coloured sitting rooms

I spill the tea on my lap just to feel something

My semi-formal clothes falling into anarchy

My superiors assuring me this won't prevent the lawsuit


In hideous laboratory sewer tunnels

I shoot the green eyed rats with stares and bullets

My gnarled fingers making key last line decisions

My guts exploding at the thought of burning another sunrise



Heaven's Parking Lot

Realizing the weight of the ceiling

As I kiss the second floor

I'm fine with the withering and buffering

I can see through the ventricle circulating sand

I have the stomach for another go and reach around

It's like nothing I've seen and burned before

This must be what heaven's parking lot is like


I try all the names on all the locks in all the hallways throughout the world

And all I get is full throated apologies and sugarcoated mythologies

From top of the line machinery suits

Who walk home in a glorious bee line

Under narrow and particular streetlights

Spending their evenings hooked up to the entertainment

Or staring out floor to ceiling bathroom windows at the city or yellow grass below


I feel a bit like Helen Keller

Tied up and thrown into a well

Life is making itself a mockery

Sticking feathers on all the wrong ends

Crying out in pain as they lay peacefully on a beanbag mattress


A series of discoloured eggs

Waiting for a particular morning

When my hangover isn't so much

And the excuses go under the radar

Then onto the humble lines below


The letters of acknowledgement

With the sense of superiority

And a phantom ringing in the ears


The surgery for our voiceless

With a breath behind the curtain

And words caught in the throat


The chances we have to take

With a double loaded alibi

And promises of unfiltered cigarettes


The fourth time around the lot

With all the prizes gathering shoulder dust

And noble attempts lost in the shuffle










Everything important takes more time than you think