Wednesday, March 16, 2011

....

The earth is off its axis
and slowly things begin to slip off
and fall into the ocean.
Gravity pulls, and even the tallest buildings
begin to lean like Pisa.

The time is out of joint
O cursed spite
that there was never one born
to set it right.

i want to reach below the surface.
A shovel and pick axe in my hands,
my arms aching and straining
as i begin to dig.

"Time waits for nomads," they say
and other witty little adages
to be repeated and passed down
until they mean nothing anymore.

i want to unravel my veins
and knit a sweater to keep you warm
throughout those cold Alberta winters.
They get worse every year.

Fly South.