oh black robe
why do you kneel in front of me
who do you pray to
as you fumble with my clothes
are those beads of sweat on your forehead
or my tears of shame
at your desire
or your impatience
at my tears that
appear
oh black robe
your sighs of pleasure paralyze me
i stand in terror and hurt
as you pray and handle me
i ache inside as your god turns his back
ignoring my shame
oh black robe
is this sin yours
or mine
i feel used
dirty
this is not what you preach on sundays
dreams of the wolf in the city
disturbed by passing cars and sirens
dangers hidden under manicured lawns
cutting feet of children
who play with discarded needles and used condoms
wolf watches from his safe house
unseen
till he hits the streets at midnight
watching strangers avert their eyes
fearful of the wolf that walks upright
and the dangers he poses
are only stories told to children
and they dream of the wolf in the city
wolf’s hackles rise on his back
and he growls in his sleep
till his dreams take him to the land of northern lights
and he hears the creaking of his kookum’s chair
and the coolness of her hand on his fevered brow
wolf sighs in his dream and tears appear
as he watches a casket lowered into the earth
full of needle marks and stripped bare of trees
earth mother trembles beneath wolf’s feet
and he feels anguish
wolf runs as he feels the breath of diesel monsters
and the forest turns to concrete under his feet
and trails turn to back alleys
the sounds of breaking glass and curses
and someone’s pain wakens him to the sound of an alarm
fred beside him sleeps on
unaware of his restless dreams
wolf stumbles to his feet
struggling to light a cigarette
to calm his nerves
and he sings softly to himself
it is but a dream and I live it only at night
wolf shudders at this thought
and he walks into the day
and the fears of the strangers in daylight’s brightness
are magnified in newspaper headlines
dreams of the wolf in the city are real
i met them on a greed day in a strange place full of
contradictions
and skin heads with twelve eyes slam dancing to the blues
suits and ties were doing grand theft canoe disguised as
week-end cowboys in their creased never dirty blue jeans
sort of bent out of shape with bullet proof vests
facing working girls taking a break between transactions
straw hatted leather jackets with work scarred hands
face a duck shot hunter with a voice of boom holding back
red tied jawboned snow dogs screaming about bat sweat and
that honest john wasn’t so honest and the intruders were
insane who had rats for friends
crazy face junior walks in and red necks sit and take notice
while making eyes at the man dressed as a woman licks
his/her red lips while caressing the young man through his
jeans imagining his first blow job
while playing pool then pontius pilate flies in with his
seven dwarfs
singing about no more fear hate white power luke cries
on albert street quoting scriptures and 18:9-14 written
on alley walls
seven dwarfs laugh as they take his bible and read the
name of the motel inside the pages of luke’s bible
he claimed from the motel desk of some forgotten one horse
town an afterthought crazy face junior had heard on his
travels and he’d keep the lights on all night trying to
keep white collar at bay by wrapping himself in his blankets
even when the night was hot and he kept the windows and
bathroom door closed pontius pilate grabs and crazy face
junior goes wild and screams about the death of the white
race and crazy face junior gone wild tells the seven dwarfs
he was sure he saw jesus on a bike on some back road one
day
then he tells them of meeting me in a back alley reading
walls and finding dr. hook towing back alleys looking for
the iron maiden while dodging piss-filled potholes
scaring drunks scaring me waiting for the light to change
on portage and smith catching the looks by fake haired men
and the devil i meet is named crazy face junior gone wild
who dodges my shadow and i see a flicker of doubt in his
eyes when i say hi crazy face junior gone wild makes the
sign of the cross at this pony tailed torn jacketed indian
wearing a purse
i walk into the albert and i see crazy face junior gone wild
talking to the seven dwarfs with suckers
and suspect devices
in their hands led by pontius pilate who says to them i dub
thee unimportant and crazy face junior goes wild before me
and tells me duck shot hunter will find me on fat tuesday
down at the albert but i’m not worried jesus lizard walks
beside me
parents rise before the dawn
waking me to the sounds of pots and pans
and quiet conversation
while the wind begins to blow
the sudden barking of the dogs heralds the arrival
of the Bombardier
idling outside, it waits
i watch my father through the frost covered window
enter the day
the dogs rise expectantly
shaking the cold off eager to run
growling at the machine that has changed their lives
and eased their burden
my father disappears into the dark pre-dawn
30 below outside and i hear the wind begin to rise
i struggle awake and into my clothes
the voice on the radio tells me to dress warm
and i shiver in the dark room
bear begins to rise as i drink my coffee
he wants out
i listen to the sound of the wind
hoping against hope that the day is lost
it’s 30 below and the city begins to wake
the wind always blows on the lake
with no protection the wind bites at exposed skin
the horizon stretching into a vast whiteness
of the lake and reaches upwards to meet the sky
eyes burn from the glare of the sun and snow
minds feelings long replaced by boredom
clothes frozen and mitts caked with ice
the day stretches into the night
and the body begins to sag
under the weight of the cold
the wind has gotten stronger and we travel snow covered roads
straining our eyes trying to glimpse the road
as the wind chases behind us rattling the van
but we’re safely cocooned inside
we peer through the blowing snow
all we can see is the line of trees ghostly in the distance
the day begins to darken and i think of my father
i hear the challenge from the past that calls me
i slump on the chair exhausted cold
i nod off
my father enters
still covered in ice
i watch through the past as he undresses
hanging his clothes over the stove
mine are scattered over the floor
my father always has supper by himself
eating in silence
fatigue on his
wind burned face
i collapse on the bed
face burning from the wind
i listen to the silence of my room
and i see the lake through my father’s eyes
the empty vastness stretching forever
much like the highways i work on
the lake and highway join
becoming one
i doze and dream
i am covered in ice and i eat in silence
i have become my father
see the sun rise in the east
hear the call of the wolves
as they seek a place to rest
i stand on a hill
looking for you in the sky
but the sunshine blinds my eyes
and the wolves’ songs deafen my hearing
so i can’t follow the sound of your voice
calling me
calling me from the past
to tell our stories to the world
but the world has closed their minds
and see only what they want to see
and so they hunt us down
to silence our truths
and i hear you calling me
but my weakness brings me down
i drag my weary body down the hill
and i seek a place to sleep
but all the doors are closed to me
all the people have gone deaf
and don’t hear the knock upon their doors
i curse the ones that gave them help
to let them live among us
as we watched them push us to the brink
and let us straddle the edge of death
then blame us for their sins
the wolves’ songs have gotten weaker
all the rivers have died
and the sun rises red each morning
and the air is not fit to breathe
so we stand idly by
waiting for another drink
to drown our tears and pain
to blind us to the scene
of young bodies beneath
the cancer that walks this land
holding his hand out to help
instead he pushes us over the edge
and the last sound we hear
is the sound of cheering
across this land
a cigarette a cold beer a typewriter
three in the morning
can’t sleep
going through withdrawal
no sweet smoke to ease the dreams
i sit and stare
no sound
flickering lights behind my eyes
nothing happens
i can hear every creak of the floor
bear grunts in the back room
the sound of music from my daughter’s room
fred sleeps on
but she’s restless
does she sense my troubled mind
do i intrude into her dream state
intermittent traffic sounds from portage avenue
rouse me
cigarette is out
unsmoked
the beer is warm
and the typewriter is cold
i resign myself to my fate
and collapse on the couch
letting my dreams take me where they want
i let go and fly
i wander these back streets
seeking the music of the night
reaching the corner of fort and york
just this side of midnight
i come to the place
where men seek men
to play in the dark
hiding their shame in back alleys
i hear the wailing of Dave’s harp
cutting through the night
and the stench of the street
i dance by myself
looking for the castle
and time changes
to near two in the morning
and the blue note holds court
with puppies learning the tunes
of my youth
i stumble over the garbage
waking the man who sleeps by his food
he asks me if i have the answer
but his voice is lost
in the night
drowned out by the scream of the siren
and the roar of the gun
broken glass rains down on us from above
as angry words are exchanged between invisible lovers
the moon fades behind the windy corners
tall concrete trees
and he asks me again for the answer
but i leave him with nothing
but empty glasses he tips back
and i hear young lovers
fumble in doorways
seeking the key to rooms
where they dream of release
from the dawn
here in the heart of fort and york
just this side of daylight
it could be anything
the way someone laughs
or the scent of a certain perfume
i can never remember the name
maybe when i’m just starting to wake
and i’ll reach beside me
to the empty side of the motel bed
but i feel the warmth of you
sometimes it’s a song
it was our song
when we were young
and we’d walk outside
to a night full of stars
and the song would follow behind us
it could be anything
a whisper, a cough,
or the way your breath would catch
like that time we saw mountains
riding in that train
racing the sun to the ocean
sometimes the smell of sweetgrass
will find you walking beside me
like we did last summer
united across this country
and i could see the pride
in your eyes
and i’ll smile
maybe just before i fall asleep
and i’ll hear a whisper
just before i close my eyes
and the words i hear
will be words of love
and i’ll smile again
and whisper back
as my words catch the breeze
carrying my message to your land of dreams
it could be anything
but it’s not
it’s love
still
no matter what we’ve been through together
the long nights
tipping back cold ones
under a winter sky
a billion stars above us
listening to the wolves around us
encircling us like brothers
still
no matter what we’ve been through together
lighting smokes
sharing j’s
and lies
listening to rock and blues
on the radio
still
no matter what we’ve been through together
hearing about the troubles at home
and what a bitch life is
and boy is it cold out today
too cold to work
but we don’t stop
even as our piss freezes as it hits the ground
we go on
still
no matter what we’ve been through together
laughing at bad jokes we tell
while lying in bunk beds
about four hundred miles from home
stoned out of our heads
and feeling every bump on the old mattress
and the coldness of the trailer
seeps under the blanket
cursing at the isolation of the bush
still
we shared bottles
watching the sun rise
as it began its day’s journey
we’d laugh at the absurdity of life
as if we knew it all
friends
yet
yet despite all we’ve been through together
you are still a stranger to me
not much to see in this sandy soil
laid bare by smoke belching noise polluting
heavy machinery
scarring the land
tearing the roots of trees out of the ground
protesting loudly as they fall
lines crisscross its pine covered face
visible only from above
while roads stretch for miles in every direction
heading for nowhere from nowhere
and in its pine depths
below the branches
where it’s cool on hot summer days
patchy sunlight filters through the trees
catching the dew on spider webs
like diamonds glinting across the forest floor
the soft hum of flies lulling me to sleep
then the sudden buzz of fear as they’re caught
in beauty
i stretch as i rise
stepping over plastic bags, aluminum cans
broken beer bottles
old no trespassing signs nailed on trees
faded from an unknown number of seasons
so old i trespass just to read the letters
spotting old house foundations
overgrown with weeds and willows
locking its memories in their roots
discarded tires lean against rotted stumps
housing a family of mice
villages appear out of nowhere
cut out of the forest wilderness
neat yards nestled against the jumbled abandoned
houses
as the old people watch them die
year by year
fighting the shifting sands
and leaning precariously against the winds
that whistle and whisper on winter nights
they wonder where the children’s laughter has gone
while they visit the dead in graveyards overgrown with weeds
life, death returning to the earth once more
becoming part of the cycle
dust to dust