`
In a corner of my new apartment,
I wake up into emptiness.
The solemn dawn 
Breaks upon my transparent window-pane,
Splashing gold onto my desk
And onto the thin layer of dust on my unwrapped television.

I stare aimlessly at the hands of the clock,
Moving painstakingly in an arc, on and on.

The days are easy to spend.
But in the evenings, I am left searching for an escape: 
Sometimes in the stench of the coffee shop,
Sometimes on the forlorn park benches near the river,
Staring blankly into the dusk, bathed in gold,
Under the mosaic of glimmering maple leaves.

The night holds no mysteries any more,
Just a meaningless silence, and a spattering of loneliness.
`

Minneapolis, MN

June, 2012

Through the wormhole

Rapid City, SD,

July, 2012

I see you

Montreal, QC

June, 2012

Machine

Montreal, QC,

June, 2012

The Artist

Minneapolis, MN,

May, 2012

So says the mountain

`
So says the mountain,
but does anyone know?
That is the pertinent question.

That is how the hills are purple,
maybe only for the night,
maybe only for the moon,
now behind the Earth, lightless
like a black hole in summer.

There the rabbits run,
and the grass is green,
on treetops made of maple syrup.
And honeybees sing to the river,
flowing into clouds,
above steel bridges,
whose hooves are cast iron,
and dig into the riverbed.
Around them, the fish swim,
with cucumbers.


But then, don't you believe in squirrels,
with tails like scarves?
And don't you believe our night on the terrace,
looking at the twinkling of eyes
in the night sky?
`

Minneapolis, MN

April, 2012