#804 sorry

stairs thump and sandwiches fly
suitcases fill and dishes rotate
never everything done
but who cares when you get away for the weekend

#803 rain rein

rain and wet fill the town
forcing me inside my house,
inside myself
grey outside
grey inside

#802 "it's bigger than you"

piercing strings
followed by skull-thumping bass
build up to lyrics that question man's contribution
to this blue gumball
forcing envy toward any one grain of sand
on a beach or in a playground sandbox

#801 greener on the other side

walking with my grandson, i see a leaf
resting on a rock by the fence
on the rock is a fossil
this green leaf leaf will one day fossilize

which is more beautiful, more impressive?
the green leaf or its ancient imprint?
i pick up the leaf, hand it to my grandson
but he seems more amazed by the fossil

#800 ALEX WAS HERE

i pour words like concrete
changeable for a finite time
setting in place from the moment they hit paper
and like the ingenious teen vandal
if i time the change just right
my words live until the sidewalk is re-done

#799 ferris wheel churning

time is a conspiracy
clock tic corruption
time zones and twilight zones
hands spin against, forcing motivation
each moves at its rate
climbing left, falling right
ferris wheel stomachs for those who watch too close
and the digital hides its progress in 60 second bits
arbitrary units invented by the clock's own existence

#798 CG Y Hate, the red plate

I LOVE Fernie.This place.

Smalltown pace, knowing the clerk’s face, night-time drum-n-bass, mountain-sheltered …           space     

godly things, NEW chocolate shops, OLD stumpy, up 3 sisters, down 3 kings,

familiar eyes and lawn trimmed perfect by, old Italian guy

But tonight my slam is for all       CAPITAL-A CAPITAL-B     HATERS

who, like me, ever said “BEEP BEEPIN, red-platers”

Birthday brats, we brag, unwilling to share            

But these mountains are not ours or theirs

Though wrapped in green ribbon and white bow,

by the, Higher Powers.    The Powers-That-Be,

Powers that be wishin’ we seein’ their vision.     

of Kindness, Understanding, Respct-       

But heck

I play the game in my mind, SUV pulls in from my blind

Cuts me off without pity like 2^nd ave is his Cow-Town city

RED-plate, but I don’t  hate

I used to seethe, now I breathe

you see, SUV slaves to collect enough…  paper quadrilaterals

 to enjoy the mountain, saddle-bowls

And when I city-drive, I need to draw on rage, release my

Mario-Andretti, psycho-speedin  horn-honkin, finger-flippin   INNER BEAST

okay, I’m not that bad, but here’s my pledge

I WILL NOT JUDGE CALGARY BY ITS WORST EXAMPLES

plenty of BLEEP BLEEPS in this town, my hikers and campers

Weekdays SUV chooses to, make Big Money; weekdays I choose to, ride Big Money

Mr SUV is 5-lane insane Mcleod Trail-men-tality

Not because he, wants to be,       not because he tries to see?

but because that’s 5 days of his 7, workin’ to afford …      condo in heaven

I’ll close         by stealin', words aristotelian     “We ARE what we repeatedly do”

So I      ask you,     see G        Y hate, the red-plate          Why CG Y

#797 cheeseburger philosophy

life is a burger
we're all a little different
choose your side
choose your size
patty between buns

life is a burger
dress it how you want
add some colour
add some condiments
cow between bread

life is a burger
eat it up
enjoy every morsel
savour every bite
meat in the middle

#796 the beach

in every person's life
blows a teenage night
a nocturnal gust
snapping the kite in a new direction
the flyer feels the snap as a tug on the hands

#795 weight

my soul is weighed down with anchors
social commitments, to-do lists, meetings
when do i cut the chains and leave the anchor to rust on the ocean floor?
trust the winds to take me

#794

when did i buy all this stuff
why
things on top of gadgets underneath trinkets
electronics and furniture and clothes
more clothes than any one person will ever need
at this rate, wall space will be non-existent in 2014
when did i buy all this stuff
why

#792 the horror

my face is the wrong size
my skin blisters and peels
glows an unnatural red
i risk early death
all because...
i forgot the sunscreen

#791 first year

dismantled pens
hold bits of paper, wet
as does the ceiling
a pile of undone to-do lists lies a large desk
covered by uncorrected assignments

#790 order

i stare at the open drawer, full of tupperware
begin to close it
slide it open again
stare another couple of moments
then i answer the battle call
empty the contents onto a free space on the counter
spray and wipe the drawer, inside and out
dry it
sort and order containers and lids
pitching the singles, the un-mated, the useless
slide it closed
open it
wallow in achievement
slide it closed again

#789 sharing

i put my soul on their table for supper
and instead
they ordered out, kfc
so i scrape my soul from their plates onto one plate
then to the stainless steel can beneath the kitchen sink
and later, curbside

#788 poetry matters

poetry is everywhere
the kitchen table, a desk, your own hand
everywhere

poetry is not a specific state of mind
but it requires a specific state of mind to be observed
an awareness, that facilitates a connection
between observer-mind and observer-environment

poetry is not matter
poetry is the reason matter matters

#787 may 5th

the mountains look like a half-eaten dessert
beside the kitchen sink
the morning after
but still
winter hangs on like the smell of fish on hands

#786 lies we tell our children

cheaters never prosper
you might get arrested for that
be careful, or your eyes will stay crossed
what goes around comes around
if you don't start trying harder, you'll never make it in (insert grade or post-secondary year here)
you'll understand when you get older

#785 nhlfomo

why do i need to see the game tonight
why not the score in the morning
and the highlights if i want
fomo
how do they use it against me so well

#784 boring

my friends call me crazy
and i call them the same
insane zany and quirky
are all compliments three
because the antonym of crazy is

#783 our kitchen table

our kitchen table provides 3 meals a day
turns people into friends
supports meetings that improve community
wears scratches and a red wine ring
our kitchen table
is the nucleus of our house

#782 take two every four hours maximum

antibiotics and lyposuction
prescription happiness
comes in a child-proof topped bottle
push and turn to unscrew
i have a cure for  95% of headaches
rest for 30 minutes in a quiet room
but no, we need the 30 second fix

#781 the poet's pledge

i promise
i promise to write crappy poetry
i promise to write poetry that will benefit others
i promise to call myself a writer, and a poet (especially when the title feels false and scary)
i promise to share poetry (mine and others)
i promise to notice the extraordinary in gum-wrappers and large leaves
i promise to beat Self-Doubt, Excuses, and I-Can'ts with a really cool whacker-stick
i promise to manipulate procrsatination
i am a poet
i promise to write

#780 it's over

a hollowness in her tone
like the hometown announcer
for a visitors' sudden death goal
and i know in that moment
whether i leave or stay
our game is over

#779 how the house turned blue

each brushstroke counts for nothing
one half-shingle on a two-story house
but somehow
the job finishes
each brushstroke counts for everything

#778 point A to point B

i put highway between myself and the mountains
they're visible on the western horizon if you strain your eyes
without the mountains as reference
the drive up the 22 feels like a treadmill
steals my energy, but takes me nowhere
monochrome and sameness whiz by me on a screen
as my matrix stands still in space and time
already
i await my return to the mountains

#777 CGY

remember the delicious single dorm bed
small for one
me falling off

that's what i'm thinking of
here in the king-size bed, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling windowed wall
down over the city

in a world of pastry souffles and mousses
i'm wishing for chocolate chip cookies
pulled from an oven by a mitt worn through in places

#776 hawks

how does a giant fall to a tic
first place bow to the last
nerves?
cockiness?
is it the tic that wins
or the giant that loses

#775 10:25

playgrounds at recess
my favourite microcosm
playing, sharing
shoving, fighting
turn-taking and monkey-budging
then they turn into adults
and nothing changes

#774 my dad

my dad never said i love you with his mouth
because he was so busy saying it with his life
my dad always washed the car for me before i went on any date
he worked hard 8-5 monday to friday to provide
he didn't say much but when he did
always worth hearing
did not believe in skipping to the second layer of chocolates
until the first one was done
was content leaving a book for supper
even if there were only two pages left in the last chapter
my dad lived the addage "a place for every thing, and a thing for every place"
he had dark fingernails from earning a living with his hands
my dad

#773 run on sentence

i run for the sense of accomplishment
that starts around 1k
and peaks on arriving back home
the accomplishment of winning against the voice that says
no, skip today, it's just one day
i run because i feel healthy
body yes, but especially spirit
i run for solitude, and for company
i run to think, and to escape thought
i run on crappy cold snowy days
because someone in a heated suburban will give an incredulous look at me
a look that makes me feel hard-core
i run because i don't always feel like running
i run because the alternative, is not running

#772 junior high dance class

hands and elbows and hips and sweaty palms
a racing mind and raging hormones
ymca, cotton-eye joe
wishing she'll be your partner
and being petrified out of your pants when she is

#771 sing to your dog

is there a tax on passion
is soul have a marketing scheme
is raw authenticity a slogan
is talent a manufactured product

is quality a facade

#770 destiny in his right hand

he rolled the dice
no matter how many black dots face up
he rolled the dice
he did not stand against the wall
watching with nervous heart
someone else roll
he rolled the dice
whether the odds are with him or with the house
he rolled the dice
and that made them his

#769 the books on my shelf

the paddle on the wall lies about all the rivers he wishes he'd paddled
above the shelf with the picture of him and her, perma-smiling
another lie of decorating
the cheery hues
the complimentary colours
lies, all of it
lies

#768 god has entered the building

chills and spills
entertain thrills on these hills
sounds turn into music that turns crowd members into instruments
that play the art of listening
rocking together
rolling individually

hours of practice and failed gigs forgotten
even the present moment is lost
because there is no object of relativity for comparison
when a crowd experiences Art through moments of music
eyes close, bodies sway, girls scream

#767 trash talk

hiding the worst of your community only works so long
the snow will melt
leaving you exposed
disposable coffee cups, ignored dogshit, discarded chip bags
and then comes the even uglier part
all blame, no responsibility
coffee-drinkers blame dog-owners blame junkfood-eaters
until winter returns

#766 not my god

like change under my children's pillows and gifts under balsam fir
the sunday hero from the cathedral of my youth
exists only in its strength of having been imagined
the bread is dry, and sticks to the roof of my mouth
the wine is dry too, and tastes cheap
the key to the tabernacle
hides travesties and tragedies committed in vestibules around the world

#765 me and my friends

heaven has no cover price tonight
best drink specials around
and the angels walk around in winter
with strapless tops and fuck-me boots
but i'd rather find a quiet pub
and make our own noisy corner

#764 mr teacher

the 3 o'clock bell rings
the little ones rush out
adding to hallway chaos
in their attempts to avoid it
the big tries to use time well
tidies, meets, sorts
but his brain was off duty at the bell

#763 hooked

words
as slippery as freshwater eels
at the heels of kids standing in rivers
and the right words
even slipperier

like spearing your first fish
the refraction must equal your error, in the right direction
and the excitement
your heart flipping like the fish
albeit much happier

#762 art

borders and edges blur my landscape
suggestions beyond the frame
actions continued
the brush is always present
even in its absence

#761 slow harmonica solo

people try
but optimism drops
as the number of birthday candles rises
did you want me to lie to you
no, the slow harmonica demands a truth

#760 the comeback

last night
when i eased into bed
the season was spring
greens fighting browns
showing signs of imminent victory
but i slept through a battle
and this morning
the world outside my window
sleeps under a white duvet

#759 with age

during youth, i hid inside myself
a habit i'm learning is hard to break
but now share and talk and initiate
are concrete words
verbs full of meaning

#758 on the wall

the pane in the mirror
too much for this obstacle named "today"
i see me, but i fight reflection
and its accompanying pain
i see the reflection, but refuse to see myself

#757 why do you write?

i write because i have something to say
i write because i have nothing to say
i write to find answers
i write to find questions
i write to brag to others
i write to humble myself
i write to understand
i write to confuse
i write to prove something
i write because i have nothing to prove
i write for the voiceless
i write for the shouters
i write to fill words onto paper
i write to purge words from my head
i write to be meaningful
i write to be indulgent
i write to invent new
i write to achieve routine
i write because i write
i write   i write   i write

#756 behind the goggles

his grief goes unnoticed
like a white man on a ski hill
but he's there
making his silent turns in the snow
making polite conversation on his chairlift

#755 jaws clenched

the vice grips my smile
holds in place
using tension
squeezes, into position
until
the handle
tightens

too far

#754 simplify

i cut back death, encouraging life
the more of the rot i cut
the more the green will grow

i stand back, admire the tree
feel inspired to do the same in my life

#753 banning balls

many boys turn flashlights into sabers and popsicle sticks into ninja stars
whether we want them to or not
and our newest response
banning balls in playgrounds
is a guarantee for aggression to be released elsewhere
somewhere less appropriate

#752 unhappy kings

we are unhappy kings
lives filled of everything
fulfilled by nothing
surrounded by various friends
emptiness our only constant companion
we own houses and yards
drink running water
that appears from our taps
cupboards full of more appliances than anyone needs
but if we bought a new cupboard
i'd fill it
if money is evil's root
then evil is a tree
and we pick and eat its fruit

#751 account balances

why you spend your smiles all over town
but save your frowns for home
i try to buy your kindness with deeds and treats
but you pay me insults and harsh words
i repaint the house and build an extension
and you notice how long the grass is getting
but every once in a while i get that million dollar smile
and think of verve singing their bittersweet symphony

#750 molasses cookies

i listen to a dead musician and wait for a pulchritudinous poem to pour forth
found that word on dictionary.com while procrastinating
the voice speaks of rail-cars and love and homecooked meals

i dump my own ingredients into a stainless steel bowl
1 cup of verbs
1/2 cup of nouns
1 T of adjectives
stir together and hope for the best

the song changes
a new band, peaking
riding the line between unknown and mainstream
deserving to be discovered
deserving to remain undiscovered to the molasses

#749 floozy

spring teased, with her halter-top, cold drink in hand, smell of charcoal in the air
let us think she was coming home with us
then at last call, i saw her back sneaking out the door
felt a chill in the night air
hours after the sun crouched into her hide-and-seek spot of choice,
behind the mountain
i went home to sleep it off
dreams of flip-flops and frisbees
but when i woke
the world outside my window
was a blank word document

#748 hurt

do not let the world get close to you
do not get close to yourself
walls and fences are human inventions,
for a reason
pain is a symptom of a too-close relationship
between the external and the internal
whether it be a dagger or a love

#747 quaecumque sunt vera

i wrote fiction four years ago
and now it's labeled as memory, non-fiction
i wrote and re-wrote until the scene turned real
and now i swear the cold night air met my warm breath
visible as white air
like childhood photos
writing fiction builds memories
truth is a small and slippery word
found under "t" in the dictionary

#746 grief

13 daisies and a pool of red
how will friday ever be the same again
i will live my days, an outlaw from the tyranny of happiness
my face will never feel tears again
cold and hard, i will not feel

#745 music industry vs. music

imagine if we only used what succeeded instantly
we'd all be two-finger typing on an a-z keyboard
underhand volleyball serving
and snowboarding wouldn't exist
just because you don't like it instantly, don't give up
maybe it's you
maybe you'll take a while to "get it"
or maybe it's the art
and it'll take a while to "get there"
so please
explore outside the top-40
nurture real music, real art

#744 fall

an apple tree
two apples at one outer edge
a small one on a lower branch
a bigger one above
the small one, looking up to the bigger, as with us
the small one shares a fear of the ground
and an impatience of being small
Small One, we all fall to the ground in our time, and we all have immense size in us
months later (and months wiser) the small one lets go and falls to the ground
decades later, in her spot on the ground
an apple tree

#743 time and tables

he eats though he's overfull
afraid of giving up that feeling associated with the privileged
but now, no elbows fight for space
no hands fought to win this morning's cereal prize
but soon

#742 wax-paper sandwich and dish-soap shampoo

i didn't know i was poor
i thought new clothes were showing off
i thought barber trips were wasteful
i didn't know i was poor
because no one told me
and when they finally did
i failed to believe them
i knew they weren't lying
i just thought they were wrong
i didn't know i was poor
because i wasn't

#741 did you hear the one about the caucasian, the middle-class male, and the well-educated businessman

did you hear the one about
the person who aimed for a cheap laugh
at an expensive price to someone or ones absent

did you hear the one about
the present victim who laughed
not out of humour
but shame and lack of self-worth
using a smile to hide the tears inside
a loud laugh to hide the soul's sobs

did you hear the one about
the segment of society overrepresented as the butt
of these ones,
even if they are
individually
clever and un-insulting

did you hear the one about the caucasian, the middle-class male, and the educated businessman
no... isn't that funny

#740 fourth period blues

the hammer that caresses my head
pounds out of my teenage speakers
the world watches me
while no one notices me
everything is colossal
because nothing matters
hold my soul until i'm 19 and wise
keep it safe, in a clean box

#739

what if i only had 738 ideas?

#738 august 18th

what will change
the bed will still be shared
just like the lives
oh sure, a name will change
but what will really change
he'll still love her
and vice versa
oh there will be some papers get signed
but what will really change
nothing?
no
something

#737 the blinking cursor

gives me first tracks on virgin white snow
a never-ending mountain
lets me choose when to call an end to my day
even allows night riding
and the next day:
new terrain and fresh new tracks
without lift lines
...so why, some days, is riding so hard

#736 pain today

coats of shadows and blood
thinned with lacrimal additive
on my bedroom walls
as i sit in bed
trying to remember
the last words i heard you speak

reality's stains will fade behind the tinted primer of memory
but until then
i absorb pain
in my own walls

#735 a down day

a decaying seed sits in my stomach
my only happy moments are false and fabricated
like the warmth from a fireplace-monitor
happiness is a lie i wake up with
resulting in the let-down of reality
have you ever felt so low you had to hurt your neck
to gaze up at the valley

#734 steep metal roof

our cozy house
(real estate speak for small)
wears a chef's hat
as the snow crystals collect and connect
forming bonds
but then
in one quick WHOOMPH!
the house is stripped of the hat
bald

#733 i am the tree, the forest is me

i'm lost in the general details
between the trees and the forest
detailed generalities have me lost
between the family tree and out-on-the-limb
i love my roots
am my roots
family stories flow through me, sap of my soul

#732 blues master

his voice and his guitar go together like old-time dance partners
knowing when to lead and when to follow
when to push and when to pull
playing to the other's strengths
pushing limits and having fun
he doesn't sing because he has to
he doesn't play guitar because he's told to
the two are like breathing for him
even when he's not singing and playing
he's singing and playing
like the moments between inhalations and exhalations,
it's still breathing

#731 fresh bedsheets

jealousy is a three syllable word that fills my today
i read the words of others
i face their accomplishment
quality, and trophies
jealousy is a noun that lives somewhere inside my ribs
a content prisoner of the me
a single part of speech
jealousy is a kite underwater
its reason for living forgotten
its existence ugly and embarrassing
jealousy is a bedsheet, fresh from the winter dryer
wrapping me in its warmth
lulling me to sleep, one lie for each dream
jealousy is the suit on the colour-blind single man
ridiculous and laughable to all
except the one who chose the suit for handsome
jealousy ends poems
a three syllable word
jealousy

#730 poetry as discipline

waiting for the right letters to drip from fingertips to keyboard keys
the writer curses his routine
questions his competence
and blames distraction
if ideas spawn ideas
why aren't there more of them
he's written infinite poems in his head and in his bed
but putting them to paper or screen
always seems like bad timing
and so they sit
dying
in his head and in his bead
unwritten and unshared
rotting

#729 a hole in my pocket

i'm living my life for other people

shovelling someone else's driveway,
while i can't get the car outta my own
cutting someone else's wood,
while i freeze
cleaning someone else's house,
while mine's a mess

i got a yardful of obligations
and a pocketful of hope

#728 rambling

habits are like hoses without underwear
cliches are high-heels on hippopotamuses
tradition is a web-covered attic box
and today is a sick rat at the bottom of a forgotten mineshaft

#727 in with the old

age is not outdated
age is reinventing itself
is age not wisdom, but there is a correlation
age is a reality
age is an advantage
age is not entitlement, but it used to be
age is awesome
the new age age is awesome
and awesome age believes youth is awesome

#726 playing with the font

italian
face
large
small

#725

out of place and dangerous
like a hammer on a cloud
funny and serious,
odd and noteworthy
like a hammer on a cloud

#724 the bath

she charges out the opening door
limbs and appendages contorting in the wind
crashes headfirst into the nearest mud-puddle
stealing the smell, battling the shampoo

#723 100 degrees in the mind

there is a thing brewing in me
a thought? an idea? a feeling?

there are bubbles clinging to the pot-bottom
they will give in to the heat soon
the water is at boiling temperature without boiling
the silence is suspect
the stillness dangerous

this thing is ready to boil
tomorrow? today? now?

#722 acoustic guitar

the instrument sits on a stand in the corner
metal strings curled like a handlebar mustache
tuned and ready to add life
but instead we press Play
and let technology live for us

#721 isn't marathon training hard?

running is easy for me
i have legs that work
they are not fast
or strong enough to stand out
they are miracles
like everyone's legs
but they are plain, as legs go

running is easy for me, i know i can do it
though i may doubt my ability to run well
i never doubt my ability to run well enough
so if running is easy
what's the hard part?
...going running

stepping into the shorts
forcing feet into socks
lacing the sneakers
all easy
even easier than running

but choosing these things
choosing to step outside
despite a hundred easy and excellent excuses
that's my hard part

#721 kamakawiwo'ole

a new old instrument catches my mind's focus
the meaning of the lyrics grows with my attention
as i take the time to uni-task
one song
for by studying on one thing
we learn about ourselves

#720 tempo day

the best way not to let one day off
turn into two days off
is not to let no days off
turn into one day off

#719 back-up

bits of eraser holding unrealized ideas
swept to the floor
like snow in a palm-size globe

pink rubber tink-tinkles
against the floor
like slow-motion glass

abandoned thoughts shatter
into the world of lost files and what-could-have-been

#718 317 unread

the mail-shelf is full
so is my inbox
the bank accounts have more going in than ever
and more going out than ever
my days are full and disappear into themselves
i have substituted soul risk
for perceived socially expected risk
and i will not receive a soon to be ousted penny
for my thoughts or on the interest accrued on my soul
that is lost with the 10-year old boy i was
the one that sat on the well and cared about the world
more than he cared about the world's opinion

#717 being away

where are they
i'm only in my thirties
but when i visit home
they should be there
dead pets and deceased relatives
they should be there, with tea steeping strong in the kettle
the others have lapped me on the track of grief

#716 dog walk

the world's stresses grow in my head
i walk
her ears flap-fly as she bounds toward me
then jiggle as she walks just ahead of me
tail up
tennis ball in mouth
and the stresses shrivel to nothing

#715 duty calls

nothing motivates like the urge to pee
so i deny myself the trip
until the poem is ended
if i gave in to the call of the bladder
i'd return, to this couch
to this cursor
to waiting for a masterful first line
but more than a masterful first line
i want a poem

#714 a jolly good fellow's dream

masqueraded intellectuals
gesturing stemless wine glasses to no one
upside down penguins
marching with briefcases under-arm
spiral stairs twist and turn
as stars fall like sparks from a birthday-cake sparkler
and the fat candles outweigh the cake
usefulness
as judged by society
faded to black yesterday

#713 my friend

chemicals and liquids fill his body and empty his life
he dies, three days at a time
and i know the boy who use to jump over cow patties
use to lay down on his stomach to receive water from the brook
but now the stomach is dying and the brook is a dry gravel bed

#712 up on the couch

Black Dog is watching me
her eyes haven't left mine
and mine haven't left the laptop
still she watches
watches, hoping for an invite
up onto the couch
typity-type-type
watch
watch
the daily job finished
i tap-tap the couch
okay

#711 gazing through the pane

from his couch, he watches his TV
during his Muted show's ads, he gazes at his street
he sees his neighbour of two years walking up her drive
he's been in love for two years
they've never spoken
she finds the keys, disappears behind her opaque door
he un-Mutes the TV and returns to his show

#710 all for not

vultures in blenders
daffodils in armpits
centerfolds in hymnbooks

black blood flows
through transparent veins and arteries
from the heart to the extremities of the being
then the return trip
again, and again, and again

#709 pink earl

pink synthetic rubber
undoes my mistakes
i sweep the bits from paper down to floor
and i'm sad
the mistake is gone

#708 Fla Chiu Lanse

the lyrics and the beat
play over in his mind

leaving the gathering
leaving his sounds and smells behind him
it happens to us all at some moments
we leave these things behind us

the night's perfect wind, broken
only by the birdsong of the invisible anatidae anas
low
flying
their song a metronome, guiding his steps

then the title hits him
and he laughs to no one

#707 daily

new notes distract like the neighbour's dog
and ideas feel as fresh as mouldy flecking paint
so here he sits
banging old words
in search of new combinations
trapped in familiar routine
looking for novel results
not today
maybe tomorrow

#706 penny and my thoughts

the building was home
the people my family
for good reason i left
now
i am visitor, a nuisance
a moldy penny
when will grown-ups grow up