Literally just a chapbook

I am genuinely excited and delighted to be involved in this new series run by Nicole Brewer, Literally just a chapbook. The book is, as it says, just a chapbook, but it is also part-magazine, part-anthology, and part-community. Content is built around a theme, in this case strong feelings. Most of the poems here express grief but Nicole made space for my poem, The Wheels, about being overwhelmed by being a parent and about children’s (people’s?) intuition for compassion. What first excited me about this project was her willingness to accept previously published poetry, which blows away one of my biggest pet peeves in the poetry ‘industry’ – that poems get one life in print, unless they luck their way into a trade book. What really got me excited was that once us lucky bunch were accepted we were all conuslted on the form and distribution of the text. I really hope other folks out there find Literally just a chapbook as an inspiration to start their own projects that bring comfort and build community.

*PS: Nicole Brewer is also working on another project, a new outlet called Frond, that wil be publishing prose from LGBTQI2SA writers. Their first deadline is November 30 so if that applies to you, you got some time to write something new.

Dick move

After David Currie

The turkey vulture is the only animal that apologizes for its mean comments. The turkey vulture survives by hounding other birds off their nests, not so they may eat their unborn young or fledglings but so the turkey vulture may feel it has done something with its day. It apologizes so it may feel it was brought up right.

Tim Hortons are safe space


It’s been dusk for days. Cancelling moods.

Both of us back-pedaling and spacing.


Tim’s? Sure. Eye contact shitty. Lineless,

we abrupt small-talk, indulge disproportionately. Here?


Here: One-sided TMI to a jangle of anecdotal gossip

and gossipy anecdotes, then finally the meat:


the crash of the candy machine, the no-reply email,

the time to watch more day games, and the dead pet.


Strangers innocuous as variations on the jelly donut.

The absence of sugar packets focuses the heart.

There is a tradition of Canadian poets writing poems titled “Sex at 31” when they are 31 years of age. This poem is not titled Sex at 31 and contains a quote from the film 10 Things I Hate About You which I saw precisely half my life ago.


Accept it

when it’s almost over




I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be

underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?


Again I’m asked if I feel I can express myself?


Again, a Russian jet is reckless.


Again I promise you a love poem.

Poetic License Revoked

The Northern Cardinal Review – ‘a journal of relatively northern North American literature’ – has published a poem of mine, “The Nesting Stuff of Humanity.” Go read it, though I’ve been reminded that some of the event details are askew. No one was drunk. The weather was bad. This still isn’t original.

Stay tuned for updates on the release of “So Long As The People Are People,” my first full-length chapbook in three years.