Globetrotter

toronto is
	amsterdam
		adrift at sea



	it breathes the open atlantic
		where lines and angles blur
				     and bend into mist


	toronto is
	prague
			without her anchoring of


	narrow streets   narrow sky
			   and
	virgin-tight apartment blocks


 it is london long-jumping
	her imperial shadows
			  trafalgar-ing into space . . . 
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 1. Purchase the book to read the full piece.

Recommended

Children of the Revolution

To you The children of the revolution I offer my deepest sympathy To the bell-bottomed Love-beaded Flower-children Who died on barren fields That oozed socio-political decay When all you wanted was To light your truth-filled pipe To breathe in And watch your own mind Playing with stars To Kodak a Soho thigh And fill a worn out knapsack With the sufferings of a dying world To lose yourself In existential nothingness And make love To the world Under a psychedelic sky What an absurdity That you should forget Where you are And that here Such things Are almost impossible . . .

Lard and Oysters

They see Emma, their mother, every weekend. They play tennis for an hour at the Mayfair Club on Chesswood Street—an hour that is increasingly an indirect and merciless measure of their age—and then they see Emma . . .