A New World Will Rise

After the bombs, the riots, the protests, and all the rest of the excitement finally subside, all that will remain will be rats, roaches, and ruin.


That, and those winos on the corner.
Still trying to scrape together enough for a bottle
– even though the liquor stores’s gone.

When the shakes from detox subside and clarity returns, they’ll either die drinking gasoline, or they’ll form a new society.




There is always,
in every dive and bus bench
and street corner and bar-stool and bank line-up

some shifty gent with cracking skin, thick glasses, scars or scabs,

who mutters curses under his breath to no one,
but me.


I am the chosen one
who soaks up the confessions of the lonely and lost and forgotten.

Lucky me.

One of these days. I’ll witness a death. I just know it.

Why do bad things always happen to me?


finding a home in London

diary entry on an early Sunday morning from the belly button of the old country

everyone here drinks too much and smokes too much and once again
I feel 2 years out of touch with the popular trends
I see at least one fox a night now, gone are the raccoons I once knew
never before have I longed so much for some kind of fancy hat to wear
everything’s made of brick
that’s cool, I dig on that
brick can talk to me the way that steel and glass never could
nobody feels offended if I act like I’m ready to flip over a table
they just extend a hand and offer a shot with a kind word
I feel like if the rent wasn’t killing me
I would have the collateral to spare more smiles

arriving at the rainbow gathering

nearing the beach at Sombreo for the first time
lit on magic mushrooms, the hour approaches dawn-break
my Quebecois companion leads the way in the quiet twilight
we stumble through the dark forest trail
trees enormous like in fairy tales
mystic purple fog drifting in from the ocean
we near the tree-line
sound of waves crashing on sand swell
finally, the forest ends
we stop in our tracks, beholding
bewildered eyes take in the grey beach
glowing in the light of a three-quarter moon
stretching for miles in either direction
deposits of thick driftwood lay here and there
people asleep in makeshift shelters, tents and lean-tos
silent save the waves’ steady roar
the ocean is infinity incarnate
epitome of both serenity and violence, it pounds the shore
we stand there between the wide expanse of sea
and the mythical giant forest behind
underneath that huge sky full of glowing stars
feeling like another grain of sand on the beach
my companion, he points at the sky
after we spend an hour sitting in silence
he regards the moon who is his mistress, his girlfriend
he tells me
a bit of cloud veils her lovely face
and with a rubbing of his thumb
he unmasks her
and she shines down in full strength again
until she goes to sleep
and so do we
tomorrow we’ll dig a bed
and build a fire