Film Photography > Poetry

(great bear)

Everyone was trying to get back home.

She made her chicken lady voice and pretended to be interested in crumbs on the table and a grabbed a bundle of toothpicks and said what is this

A haystack or a house.

We all snickered as she pretended she had bird feet.
Everyone was higher than a kite trying to catch a train home
At least get to the door with shoes on.

After being in the big theatre of stars

The great bear
So far flung and catapulted into escapism.

Eyes so red from what they gave me
I thought I had contacts in my contacts
Like stacked plates in a diner drawer.

Finer things in life don’t always grab you or help you remember the good times
When your being pulled in all directions because of your uniqueness
And wit.

Don’t quit on me now
Tell me another one of those
funny stories,

The one about being chased by the mean dog
And it just licked you.

The bridge spanned the distances
And we made it out into the fog
Trying to jog my memory is an exercise of smoke and mirrors
finding sense of it all
In the great hall of fame of fear.

I could use my mind to teleport across a lake
And sit quietly like a Buddha
Appropriation highway

Meditation yellow line.

(Part two- ammonite city)

I could expand my mind in a blink
I declare
lashes over eyes repeating
Lapping the spawning water in slow

motion rivulets.

Every edge had a deco appeal
Hilt and halt and
haute couture

Fault dilute.

The buildings in the sun with their chrome and quartz rock

Spirits listening.

She said lets head to jasper
and another said let’s go to
Lethbridge for ammonite!

There was a chalk board with all the train times smudged and illegible destinations.

The punk rock bully and his girlfriend was having a bad trip already on the platform
Violent punching at the wind and air
I said take my studded belt
an offering of restraint

A Vivienne Westwood memorial token.

To train station
Be whatever you want,

Stop pulling yourself together
For no landscape escaping the viewer.

They wobbled out the rotating doors into the mist
You were never missed in this travel log
Everything is so cut finely with precision.

Touch was immaculate and sex was beyond
It was honouring everything and everyone and that’s what mattered.

Made it more real.
Uncanny and spellbinding.

No one owned anything but their one outfit
Clothes on a back.

Horse bareback
Fallen shack branches


No one had ownership or placement
On anyones time
No track of time or
silver hair line.

Who’s next?
The immaculate witness?

Sun scout
No obstacle is left

In stone

Or Pediment

Or square

quarries or quarrels
Or beads of coral

Dipped in the furrow
Of your glamorous brow


How did we escape the Escapade
be so well Behaved?
We’ve already missed the meaning of
The season


The leaning into infinity
When we took another
dignity away.

They call on the intercom

Platform city

All sculpted from
Indigenous soil.

The sign cannot be hammered in
And no sparrows or

starlings sing.

Great bear