FeatherBrain

a poem about a washer filled with thoughts passing through my brain...

tomato light bulbs in the window,

a string of red lights,

cur-tailed by two blue curtains

falling from the ceiling begging for attention.

a bear walks in and orders a beer.

red, yellow and green coats

and the grey slush outside echoes.

noise materializes and passes by

over frozen rain.

or they enter the room.

signs on tables

carved by sisters and brothers

spinning on black leather chairs.

at the bar, a red lamp

with holes in her shade.

when the light escapes

she goes for a hike

on a path through the forest:

bunny and bird,

followed by foxes and flowers.

they die in their painting, they dry on the wall

and the man with the moustache

is still talking about a chance hadn't taken,

while the barmaid polishes silver and gold

offering a beer to a green coat.

how many planks can you walk

before your shoes wear out? and

where’s the exit when there’s no way out?

(written in Toronto 2014)