Excuse me mister, I'd like to borrow some of your time.

I'm living on illicit time. I make silver tounged promises, compromises that wish for wings. 2 more minutes, 3 more hours, 1 more day, anything.
Time still confuses me. What possible effect could such a untangible, relative, vague concept have? More and more I find it standing in my way, or even behind me. Sometimes it trips me, sometimes it carries me. The hardest thing is to court it. Learn to dance with it, the proper seduction that changes daily; slow, sweet, furiously panicked, he is never the same twice, and because of that;
I may never be the same again.

Summer mournings

Staring through the bus window glass at a man staring out his car window at a Tim Hortens cup that is miraculously still upright in the road, summer waves goodbye, opens the way for a loving fall, the trees tentative in their yellow, but a million leaves on the ground already, washing through my steps toward my connecting bus, wishing I was camping in this perfection, with the yawning blue sky and the wind, staring at the woman staring at me staring at her wondering if I could overpower her and steal her double-double...

I am not awake today, wandering blearily in the sun through my kitchen windows. Instinct dresses me, I catch my bus on time, but this day has not even started, oh no, not even started not yet. I have a million hearts to break yet, and a million hearts to be broken. Possibility cradles me easing me into the cavernous bowl like an underground lake, so black it has no bottom, making me aware of my feet, standing on a thousand miles of nothing, perhaps watched, in their pink vunerability, by slick eyes with clear eyelids.
Every movement squeezes my heart; I am a sleepy ninja.

More work

Heavy, scarred man with a diamond earring like a gypsy's eye by campfire tells me he's never met anyone who wanted to join the army. Tells me how he takes his three year old son, rain or shine, to stand by the Highway of Heros in Toronto, waving a flag fo the fallen soliders. His voice is wistful, he starts for a a moment (such a big man stumbling?) saying he thought about it for a while, but with his son...no, not with such a young son. His voice stops for a moment, and suddenly my hands are far too awkward and I don't know what to do with them.

Says he would support his son if he wants to. Wants to give him the chance others said he didn't have.

Isn't that what the army's for?
To give a chance when others say you may not?