Toronto taxi
Go. You. Stop. Go. Brake. Dart. Weave. Are. Bolt. Stop. Now. Some. Merge. Where. Fast. Go. Switch. In. Stomp. And. Stomp. Watch. This. Act. Now. Don’t. Think. Go. Town. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Toronto busker
He dreams of water. The sawing of the bow and her skirts alive, salt on the tongue. CLICK ON THE RECORDING
Subway violin
Fingers on strings pulling the day on and on to the tap-tap of busy shoes. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Amazing Grace
Your fine bones and the weight of you. The night unending and the swell of this tiny song, humming. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Evening bells in Cuetzalan
Busy hands, stilled by sunset, the heat of the day fading. Ring the bells, sing out to the children. Gather them home. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN
Organillero de Coyoacan
Armed with a hand crank and union card, he tatters under the midday sun. Sounds in sepia murmuring amidst the ring tones. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Noon Mass in the Cathedral
A hundred glossy-faced believers in the cool embrace of stone. Their prayers rise to the noon day sun trailing lunch bags. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Noon bells in El Centro
The cathedral is sinking. The state, agitated, has responded with scaffolds and prosthetics. Everyone has noted this except the cleaning woman who each night slips in to touch the Lady of the Immaculate Conception and wipe away her dust like tears. (Originally published as “Teotihuacan,” in Goodbye: Poems for Leaving, Cubicle Press, 2007)…
Printing Press
We are all devils here, where iron rings with the heft of words. CLICK ON THE RECORDING
Heavy Rain off the Eaves
One man’s voice, a cat at home curled up on the paper and a phone bill overdue. Him, his voice, suddenly there, like a reflection in glass, a hand on your shoulder, and the wind is inside me, in the cage of my chest, swelling. One man’s voice. No greater than another’s. And perfect…
Propane truck
Valparaiso is an expletive of colour: naranja, azul, amarillo, verde, el color de los muscelos tires. All the flags hang their heads as afternoon shadows grow. Text on the button