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 Canadian Male

Growing Vines

It is early. There are no sounds from the parked
cars outside. A piece of bread lies on the counter-top.

It is reminding me of compressed emotions held
firmly in the heart. There is not anything left to do

but face the electric lights blinking on and off
in the crevices of the morning. The secondary

darkness creates a temporary space. I flicker
on and off like the lights. Shine immortal in the

glare of a 100 watt bulb. Hide eternal in the
emptiness of the darkness. Two states of being

which differ only in the expression of doubt
that I confess. I cringe at the thought that the

lightbulb of desire is controlled by the flicking
of a switch. Somewhere there are growing vines

that travel softly over the glances of faces
pressed hopefully into the window. They are

shopping without money, wishing for toys that
they can not afford. Creating distance is easy.

It becomes a game and the dice are rolling,
rolling back and forth across the table with

accusations in every drop. I hear again the
creation of the world. It is begun in loneliness

that covers everyone who has a thought. The
days of life are spent trying to fill the emptiness

with vines of greed. My hair is gently tossed
from the sleep it has enjoyed. Like a thunder

storm the silence is deafening. There are only
situations, issues of reality which define the

makings of the man. Sometimes, the air is thick
with the insistence of defeat. Don't let the lights

turn on and off anymore. Take a position, grow
like the vines across the shadows of a thought.

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