ditch,

the poetry that matters

Tim MacKay

Tim MacKay was raised in St. Thomas, Ontario, studied English Lit. and Philosophy at Mount Allison University. He currently lives in Toronto where he works for a small publishing house. Work has appeared in Take It To The Streets Poetry and Guerilla Pamphlets. Artwork and poems can be found at http://heavenforahelmet.tumblr.com/

you zoo multitude

as long as i
am menagerie
“A myriad years we have been
Myriad upon myriad shall be”
before birds sing circles
circuit tree branch a breech
of insect sky & sea
prophecy seek sleek
connection & curator
mirror management
of feather/phonics/phony
symph & symmetry
of many mammoth moments
of budding, bidding, mudbank bloom
& daedalus daunted
by barking binary feral folly
age shifts shrinking
in buzzing shrubbery 
river mirror Minsk
in 1989 i was a number
multiplying divisions
be-
tween mirror/age/men-
agerie /myriad








produce market mind
 

if deals are real
this one is an apple
on top of your head
tip iceberg impeach
pair plum the debts
death & stocks produce
arrow sick shearing unseen
above calculating
skulls dug airy & fresh
from shifting field
report & project-
ions & outs are eons
called quarterly
a cowardly cut two heads
one apple one garden one blade









absent from the groundbreaking

day’s bricks spin
around a lack
of all appetites narrative
is the sexiest, the steadiest
view at the foundations
when laid bare buckle
belt out broken blue-
prints pre-
made in morning
light a match-
stick to the maze
men mold
to map envy
blinders are necessary
to block by block
block bric-a-brack
particles particular to
one window’s past
pictures frame
work as play pre-
tenses and tones pre-
set the songs that
sing your lost
& found are formulas fixed
in photos where we are something
we are not only performing
but are casting a
consular diptych relief
from what is missing
tomorrows towers tasks topple
& rise again 







Guilt
 

a good resume
means a muffled spring
into retraction, always second
blessing blundered by a fumble
fantasy to fact check flares
fossils & flash
back into bill-
able bodies now commodities
coaxed & cashed in court-
rooms to reward focus
on routines & rigorous
self-critique crack kick
the cycle by peddling
progress blind to pedigree
in agreement with migration
& lusts, lumps, moaning
tumors and tomorrows
are only so few
good men gather kin-
dling & lean on one
another nervous ticks, time, takes
a day & a pill
to pop the possibility
of a plummeting present
of a presence
of mind missing link-
age


but I still quake
up ox gut gulp
earth & sun,
rumble home with midnight
in my jaws







power, work, in two grinds & infiniteless addiction

push diesel, get flicked, catch
football numbers stats stack
chips banana clip
board members entity
entitles me
& mine gold deep
down we know
they’ve been wronged
by the wrinkled reverse
race-roar Porsche
9/11 fetish for the falling
man pockets swollen making
it arraign blind hangman hustle
knocked when it’s slang from a corner
office go-getter the slickest trap
cocked back ratchet bang banker
risk ready-rock oil spells
two grinds on chrome and curb
side electric slide by the breadline
junky jungle with wasted lions
chase smoke flail weed
from the chaff on charts & triple-beam
scales sales so legit living your dime-bag dy-
nasty brutish & short








The Lie of the Land

they said someone dropped Fruit
Ridge Line
down
earth
Quakers & drag-
strips bare arms & clapboard
songs sync “we used to
make things here”
union singers splice
remember-whens & crushed cans
of Canadians through the quivering
trilliums sliding atomic
pieces & speakers weave a whole
out of two-
pump stations & seed & sun-
burned hippies thumb
rides, weed, tobacco
piped from a furrow
field tractor pulls
apart phonemes & trestles
stretch the green gully dip
a rusty nimbus rings
a gravel pit to prove
“that dirt is clean
when there is a volume” reaching
a radiator glow crooked tiller
sink radiant gold to cinder
blocks little ways to live
stocked ponds pilfered to Turkey
Point Motel pickups pack puking
farmboys of local legend “Ulysses
a mower” & “Xerxes hawking mustard”
beside the crick a sudden creek
clang of twilight
horseshoes ringer, drunks in Chevys
in Iona Station 
cobs golden ears dangle from a deer-
blind bible billboards
sink home in ditches where someone said something

Bookmark and Share

                                                                                                              May 31, 2012