All the Brick Walls in Brampton

All the Brick Walls in Brampton:


Cigarettes smell like brick walls,
and remind me of lurking around corners,
they burn slow with the endless sunsets,
like the great lidless eye of summer,
looking out over the urban sprawl as it eats up the land-
I wondered how its shape would shift next. Who knew?

Against a wall, I was hiding
from the suburban sages
with tobacco, cola and the resolve to do nothing -
I was looking into the eyes of a friend
who was becoming a stranger,
not fighting it - it came with the g
rim understanding of growing up.
Time will leave us powerless,
and like with quicksand,
struggling will only make it worse.

Clutter makes for stagnancy -
this I learned from sleeplessly
staring about your room,
or while contemplating the infinite
transgressions of weakness.
You said it's me. You said it isn't the mess,
it ain't the mess, it's not the mess.
Maybe you're right. But I look around,
dust on the window, all this dirt and clutter -
and there's things need doing.

They make pills for stress now,
and for not having the strength to sleep.
There's medicine to still my shaking hand -
But they don't make a pill for indecision.
Lost amongst the changing faces,
who will reign in my father's strength and boyish wonder?

From a roof top, Like little pebbles,
bits of tar and sand crumbled beneath me,
sent tumbling down to the wet grass
they stuck to the blades.
I was up there looking for a city,
scanning the expanding grid
wanting to find a friendly face,
but they were all shadows
dancing in ritual and
succumbing to the vicious heat.

Cigarettes taste like the air
in that dark guest room, one wet July,
Fog forming on the window -
words exchanged soundlessly,
Light it, ember ignite,
ashes on the mattress (clean it later).
There was always time for later then.
Now the emulsion, Age makes time easier to swallow.
Wisdom, supposedly, is a currency,
Changes hands I suppose,
serves some pragmatic function...
With age we have so much
to look forward to, although I'll
always catch myself looking
back absent mindedly -
suddenly recalling
the brick walls in Brampton,
the ashes on the mattress,
A wet July couched in an endless summer
I spent lurking around corners.