waiting for victory rose

flat. and in pain i quit cities
and their failure to own
their secrets. hope in change
rides on the contrails of
dragonflies born yesterday
and the sun keeps setting.
i dreamt of Great Lakes
and dunes i haven't yet walked
from canada or from one divided state
it is no matter. the world is
this canada
finally shrugging
american hemmed handmedowns.
the world is this canada
buying flying weapons
grasping for Northern sovereignty
digging deep holes of austerity
to seek the false throne
encrusted with mineral extraction
and the ice keeps melting
and the bears keep swimming.

damn these dreams only
dreams of land
where property has no meaning
trees fall on their own
and souls are redistributed
to nonbipedal things.
damn our stalled
momentum and the
incapacity to keep it.
we are too many
and the dandelion
cannot weed itself.

beck

i used to think of beauty of
british columbia and its verdant shadows
and lands distant until that night i
met your son forever four.
we listened to rock music jangle sounds
that birthed our testosterone
sounds tolling a mediocre ring to usher in
this decade they forgot to press vinyl.
wet meat avocado peeled
an unnoticed decadent pairing brought
on the ceaseless new flows of athabasca tailings
and fires of frackwater. we swallowed
all with saki warm enough
to unshelf that tiny photo album.
your son knew only time of perpetual hope
frozen by his aged innocence
and given over to no man. he was
as a machine of stoicism 
shrugging every tussle they threw
wearing his ochre skin
like a deep space swimming suit of courage.
but his demons did finally come around

and when they did
i know he gave them his soft cheek
and offered quiet embrace.
on that night i met your son
i fell in love with you
each and together.