Plans...

The air is crisp like the breeze off of ice capped seas, a woman next door raises her voice, and the birds nest higher. Blades of grass hold the waters' weight, and the dirt is darker than yesterday. I need you more than 4 days a week, when convenience is not an issue. When the rains fall, I know you enjoy this weather, and you know I do too. Your skin, smooth like the porcelain in my Mothers cupboard. You are a living doll, in the winter, in a grey coat. You are everything I say, and everything you don't think you are.

"Tell your Father that, that you're mine, and I swear we'll run away".. I will take you to the docks, I will take you to the runway, I will take you to the station, I will take you...

I will leave education to the ones who dream of Harvard and Oxford.

I will leave art to the snobs that pointlessly critique work that is unique in every stroke, like the artists fingerprint, trying to explain expression, trying to judge the inexplainable.

I will leave music for the ones that only think of money and sales.

I will leave where you know I am so that you won't.

I will labour on farms. I will fall in mud. I will have leather hands, I will have no finger prints. I will hitch hike, I will travel. I will drink, I will talk and I will walk. I will smoke a pipe. I will not have a bank account. I will work for food. I will wear worn sole-less leather boots. I will sleep on a mattress on a floor in a bare room. I will chop wood with a blunt axe. I will live where business men can't find me. I will live where men of God can't find me. I will live where isolation can.

I will live where there are no taxes. I will live where there is no Government in reach of me. I will live where there is no tv. I will live where there is no news. I will not have a woman. I will not have children. I will have no connection to anything connectable.

I will not dream but I will sleep. I will stoke fires. I will be a ghost in the towns I pass, and I will be a ghost in the ghost town of my mind...

Here is where you will find me.

I will disappear in another country, in different clothes, in different shoes, with different people, among interesting faces, and different trees. I will live where the mountains meet the sea. And where the leaves are just as beautiful detached from trees.

I will not have a grave, I will not have a stone. Because no one will know, where I lived and died alone.

Ships Sink...

The lights in your street, coated and warmed me, for the slightest of moments. I couldn't feel my fingers, my hands or my arms. The cold wheel felt non-existent. When I received the signal I left my secrets, and hopes, and hard work on the side of the road, there, near the path to your door. Leading to the mat I have become. My own shoes wear me down, trying to clean themselves pointlessly, considering I will walk the same trail I just returned from. Now I will leave without destination and with no defenses. The jetty, the pier, the dock, is the place that I leave land. I cannot abandon, the ship has sailed. You are the compass. Out here there is no post. I sail your seas in the opposite direction. A whirlwind twilight and tornado swept sea spray, chills my bones.

Father FortyNineOhNine...

The fields are flat and empty,

It's bounty is underground,

The moon is full, humming like a neon light,

The window has no walls, it's not there,

Did you ride the iron horse?

Does the road own you now?

Is every part of that tree you,

And a little of me?

I heard you whispered through the breeze,

And through the sea, to your brother,

I heard you held back the storm,

If I dropped the line, would it hit the bottom?

If I caught you, would you have forgotten?

That you had died?

I remember you without a face,

White cotton wrapped, like Egyptian Kings,

Though you slept in wood, and not in stone,

You had no fancy clothes, no fancy gold,

But you still ruled my earth, you rule my dreams,

You are still, my distant King.

Canada...

Canada is calling me,

To where I've never been,

Where everything is beautiful,

In its time of dying.

Frieday...

All the smoke you breathe in, will be,

Mixed with the air breathed out, by me.

All the waters, dam and flow,

And fill the hull, that sat too low.

You never know, when time seems to pass,

Until you see it, in a photograph,

You can never go back again,

Only the memory, will let you, now and then.

All the mountains, will drop their stone,

And raise the land, on all our bones,

After all this time has gone,

We will be, where we, belong.