canadian

We know so little about what goes on in another person__ head.

Strange, how in all those apocalyptic movies, when their society breaks down into lawlessness and anarchy, Canada is always the haven of safety, the place people want to escape to.

The lonely, wistful revisionism of memories is as gratingly repetitive as snow and ice in Canada. I avoid them both at all costs - memories and Canada.

We build this country ourselves every day and we have to be, in the most positive sense, totally unreal.

The moon twangs its silver strings;The river swoons into town;The wind beds down in the pines,Covers itself with stars.

In school, I hated poetry - those skinny,Malnourished poems that professors love;The bad grammar and dirty words that catchIn the mouth like fishhooks, tear holes in speech.Pablo, your words are rain I run through,Grass I sleep in.

We are only allowed to livedue to some colossal misunderstanding.