Prose

            some dog, alright, sings chinese!

                                                 
oh to be a newfie
tucked below the gunwale 
of a solid wood boat
cherry, or teak, no shine, just strength
my master's boy 
shouldering me in the wind, 
my memories of god
still erect in the shadows of 
my time long gone home


      epirus, i am 
    i am molosser
    i am here for you
    as i am alive.


to see, to know as i must, today
that my own kind
(and we would never cut it as dogs)
are too short in terms of love
to see, to care, to basically sense...


how is it that 
i am a survivor
why is it that
i am a survivor
who is it that
i am a survivor

i love ruby fish
i love ed lopez
i love wendy voltaire
i love little modern e
i love josh vassa...
     
   i love not even 
   knowing names
   the births of all 
   of you, my point being: 
   we all count... 
   can you remember this? for me?


we can hate, boy can we, our species....
we can rip the lungs out of a baby

we can smear the blood of grandmother on the wall
we can laugh at ourselves
while a dog dies
we can grow on the basis of our corruption
     
   we live with no 
   knowledge,    
   anymore, no sense 
   of what that means, 
   icarus burning 
   in the light 
   of the sun.


myself, i am worn out on the anger
that these fuckers have led me to
i am tired, i am supposed to be in recovery
i never felt so strongly against
the ways of others as i do today
   
   this, the residual of a place like ash
   this what one can expect, a patient
   if placed there, amongst the filth
   of modern day monsters.
     
not hate, not me, not yet
just anger, and all of you
yes, you rehab therapy girls 
        
      (suzanne, 
     give it a rest already, flirty girl, you are simple
     and just go about paying for your lousy first house)


yes, you rehab therapy men 


    (scott, 
   your missing limb and numerous other old injuries
   paint you as you really are, a clumsy ass, at best 
   no kind of peaceful athlete, nor scholar, and so on)


of course, the librarian bitch 


   (i don't even remember your name, 
    you were out of my loop right away
    you and your phony phony laughter)


all of you need to wake up, man
you are young, you have potential
but little to no excuse (therein my anger with each of you)


   start doing something that matters
  right there, right now, where you are 
  for christ's sake, quit mauling 
  the beauty of our world. 


children, follow nana, for
to be a newfie in a boat
ready open wide awake
to be a newfie in a boat
watching closely all of us
to be a newfie in a boat 
heading to the outer banks 
where a newfie 
never looks back. 

   i was soon warmed by 

   a newfie, always

   drawing closer 
   to yesterdays shore 

                       (self pjreed 2012)


notes
   -pic of steven b., lucy and bryll, nova scotia farm: leah b. 1991 
   -image of ruby fish: c/o rubyfish.net
   -pic of lucy, taos ski valley: self pjreed 1990
   







                        paoloreed@gmail.com