Submission Information

rob mclennan -
Excerpt from The Ottawa City Project


from "the address book (erasure)"

233 gilmour street

my mother own & baseball diamond, home
aint what it used to, last rites of houses
then not so, set & set upon
runcible, mountain high & the street
contained everyone, tender disgust
& cicadas sweet rapture, august moon
of red summer silk contradictions, plastic light
of fathers, her own a cold cigarette
plantation, stroke or no stroke, a
form of erasure; snarl of smoke
suspicious materials, brokeback colonies
anticipation of shores upon shores upon shore
once speaking clear, they moved; obtain
a clearer speaking picture, gilmour torn
& torn down; immediately moved
their material restriction impeded, & built
in nineteen sixty-six a tall brown
oval ship in harbour minutes, impressive
& leaving them no lesson to meet

30 spadina avenue

bandied about a heart, a heart of pearl glass
minute of slippers, a balcony rescue
, rotting couch, a nylon viper, catgut
when she sleeps, our frailest sailings break
& slow dead microphones; the weight of slender wire,
burrows daylight flung in space, a fourteen-inch
, a fire-hiss, sneakers orbit
full of mud; where we born soundless, electric snap
& wall of all our possibilities

30 pretoria avenue

the last place I would thought of, home in art
represents the deepest cut, the catabolic plane
in thinking of an atmosphere of gratitude; remember,
when we comfort; swans in the river once, & taste
of wind in breaded hands; a symphony of noises small
& as themselves, introduce the world; the entire universe
is as much there four walls, small hands reaching
popping cheerios & quilted cloth, till burst & beaten, where
there is no buckshot gravel or composure; the last show picture
small town snow a shovel on the front steps, plastic cups
of needles red my life in art; it presses cookie-cut
against itself & pulls; I am bloodied a likely dream

96 rochester street

a portrait of our findings; phone lines break the manes
of horses wild; like a hardy boy blue leans cautious
& a smugglers cove; homemade wild basement bucket wine
& longshore fears that beat the current hooks & tides
beyond the angular cells, beyond the clumsy signs,
the drunken birthdays, parties at the bare bone of listening
; a history of narration; when we sleep, we sleep inside,
quietly disbanding; a kitchen counter note of passage,
quick cautious halo sips; rain obeys gravity & grace;
my fingers lose practice, communal lip of cauterized trees
the backyard planted; dark watered deck at night
of your foreboding; or if like antlers,
the berkshire horse was all we left, a paper trail, a stone
encased in ice; each year a year, a starved gaunt
twisted & eaten, drifted over; who wrote our own way into immortality

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