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Shaking all over

Possibility is shaking all over me all over
me I am shaking all over. I have morte (ha) meaning more meaning than the Gilgamesh giant, and also him in south Saskatchewan and in our own circle we had. Groter Abe. We had a circle we had a circle and italics. But don’t forget we are, according to Sheil Heti, in PURE COLOUR, JUST A FIRST DRAFT. In the next iteration of the world as we know it, improvements will be made.

Last night I had a dream about Gary Barwin, Stuart Ross, Shane Neilson, Ariel Gordon, Sue Sorenson.They jostled me out of a place around the table. I am reading their books now and  this is a fairly Standard Rejection Anxiety dream.

Friendly to me were Erna Paris (Freelance n own-fiction book and magazine writer, a fella whose name I have yet to remember, a writer, n non-fiction and a dann fine cook!, but on the publisher’s side Phyllis Bruce, (Editor, publisherr) who did not laugh me out of the room. and landed several fiction debut/early books.  That was the 80s, and it was still CanCopy, rather than Access Copyright. They should have listened to me.  But this I realize is another substrata of the Listen Hear Book. Why do people not here I mean hear what I am saying. “Please don’t let me be misunderstood” (Eric Burdon, Joe Cocker) To be understood is what I shoot for. Shakin it loose this remembrance of striving for understanding another corner post of the collection of Ghazal’s, Blues, New music, listening opens me up  like 
fresh stone fruit. 

A quote: This for Listen Heart

“Another world is not only possible, she’s on her way. On a quiet day, if you listen very carefully, You can hear her breathe.” Arundhati Roy




Gott du hast mir als Kind aus Wagen hoch oft gehoben.
Die Engeln singen alle Mit Trost
und Gedanken, du gibst mir nur eine Sprache zu lernen
lachest du mir auf mein Eisen Baum
so spuck ich in deine Augen! Du bist
Ubu ubu ubu und mein Wieb sagt’s dem Hund Quit it,
Quit it, und er hört nicht zu.





God, you often lifted me out of stupid red wagons
when I was a child. The angels sang in comfort and thought
you only gave me a language to learn.

You laugh at me in my iron tree
I spit in your eyes! You are
Ubu ubu ubu . My wife

tells the dog; Quit it,
Quit it, and he doesn’t




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I listen to music, read, write poetry and prose, and make videocasts, usually in collaboration with visual and media artist Murray Toews. I am a writer with disabilities, or a disabled writer, or a neurodivergent crip writer. You choose the point of entry for your reading;  there are no border guards.  The welcome mat is out. Stomp your feet and leave your shoes on. 

Love & Surgery (Radiant 2019) is my most recent collection of words about love and loss, including my below-the-left- knee amputation, my most visible disability. "Lousy cartilage genetics,"  the surgeon's note. Lucky for me no phantom leg pain. Disappearing cartilage makes for severe osteoarthritis. Real pain is now an everyday companion, but usually held back enough with meds and meditation, to allow for making poems, stories, jokes, aphorisms all true enough, remembering narrators are unreliable and writers make shit up. 

Afghanistan Confessions, poems in the voice of Canadian soldiers, was published in 2014, boy in 2012. Lucky Man (2005) was nominated for the McNally Robinson Manitoba Book of the Year award.