7/9/05
Toronto

Don’t be afraid to pick up the pen
You can always put it down
Don’t be afraid to share your pain
There’s always more to be found

Times when death smells like pepper and ash
Rotting books crumble by your fearful touch
Life in turn smells of earth and seedlings
Kitten farts push you across the room

Though the world has changed
Again the same nagging questions dig furrows
In the dust behind me,
Dragged while trudging or just wandering

How many created disappointments
Have I had to endure?
Could I count the avoided glances by every mirror
Hung in my path?
Which dreams did I turn my back on
Before they were forgotten?

Loneliness smells like painted concrete, thin towels
And cold food eaten anyways
These could be valid observations by someone
Who never looks up from his feet
But who’s watching where they are going now a days?