Trevor Abes is studying literature and philosophy at The University of Toronto. Originally from
He has been published in RE: VERSE (at www.youngpoets.ca), and also in Sage of Consciousness.
What if: Red blond silence pollinated clouds once after death and undertows, corridors filled with sexagenarians singing Sinatra, flying overhead paper cups brim to the essence.
Seldom ripjaws of misunderstood last breaths made along detective’s fine profile, frozen beside someone watching the stars while pointing towards the elm tree in the middle of an open field, burning green shaped eyes crumbling, mumbling fluent synaesthetic silence, how dream sighs fading away.
Maybe: Preaching opalescent rocks covered in disaster, the beauty inside the word carnage or cyanide, ripple evanescent, sanctioned youth freedomriders, hoping for calm skies and blueberry whispers, on the road withered dissected by songs distant, listening yet shouting an imperceptible howl to mass content, over and over again.
Problems and Solutions
Heartbreak ………………Purchasing coffee with pennies
Schizophrenia……Considering yourselves lucky
Dyslexia……Creating a shift in the linguistic paradigm
G.H.S (Garden Hose Syndrome)… rumplestilsky Viagra
Obsession...in a good way
Poetry = careless prancing, panic, presence, pleasant persistence,
Hopscotch and decadence;
Poetry is not Poe-try,
But a whisper under barber shop swirls,
Signalling the end of signs.