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Selected poems from poems :east, a work in progress: giscome grey owl ( where bateman creek runs ofver the bridge ) hunts, and has no tricks to it. fly, catch. simple. it is the rest of the world which is an incomprehensible trick. willow river (on portage road, following giscome and giscombe) mist is some slmile the clouds, their rain one metaphor or another hospital creek is. i'm too late again as i can tell someone has already taken the poems from this place bateman creek the creek has chosen to be road the fish have chosen to be rocks a glimpse of that owl again, grey, a kite in windless mist, an impossible flight. it is an effective hunter which deceives it prey by being impossible. (of course there were tricks. there have always been tricks.) newlands memory chopped, pulped the white, blank. i am this mill consumed by its own sawdust aleza lake (the nude in the doorway) driving by the (old) house emerging --might have been wearing boots (old) penis emerged i'm bracketed between many cold thoughts and shiver at all that is obvious upper fraser (a very patient atlas) the town deleted the names shrugged off street signs pulled up & laid down the map has become a place of its own and wants the whole page to itself Chief Running Deer for Fred Saskamoose (but i never met the man, he |