Travel Brochure for the Listening Tour Nighttime turned in a transportation thesis filled with sirens and flashbulbs clips and cuts that sound that gainsboro sound comin’ round again I love them statistically she says evenly lipstick sales skyrocket on rainy days whenever wind and laughter don’t have to mean a thing candied here in gridlock chatter while you stand and make a list of all the sounds you want to protect a machine for singing chance operations at soft edges we’re nothing but fleshy bits of streaming data rivulets corruptible sparks yer headlamp barks fever pitch ephemeral flickers as transit noise forgets for the first time that evening and yer voice whines by design sittin’ in the rain feels like surrender she says and nighttime listens just beyond the roaring thunder

Imperial Blue Scoop storms transfer energy moisture between regions without a sense of urgency clouds speak super inclusively

Approaching Neltron by Animal Balloon The day is named weather. And the air up here is billowing sea. This animal balloon eating sea foam green clouds and radio tinsel igniting rouge fluids. We can feel the vapours, the rumpled sunlight filling our wicker basket. I can feel Cullen whisper, The spirit world is behind this. What hangs between us is sewn of cheesecloth globs. Hold run to jump far, he says. I look down. The day is named wait! And the scale of my failure is a spectrum disorder. My imagination is my own flood. This animal balloon drifting upon feet like curdled lightning bolts, I look down. Neltron is glistening organs guzzled upwards. It is on this ruby surface where I want to live and play with my kids, inventing the melodies of our future. I want to be one of them. I want to make a living. Yet, they say I only look like that in family photographs. However unfamiliar, my poetics of fixation belong to affection. This poem includes some of you and most of me, buckled and floating freely.

for Vanessa Thursday Morning: I’m 5AM again and yer elastic smooth, skipping across shower tile, catch our reflection. “See it there?” Shower droplets stroke yer hair dry yer cheeks. Lilies spring up from the faucet from steam from heartwave electricity, lilies spring up, the shower goes botanical, the shower goes squelch tail. Brief noise heard between the end of a radio transmission, my heart beat hard, and the reactivation of the receiver’s squelch circuit. My heart beat superpulse. Squelch tail squelch circuit. My heart beat super high frequencies. Our hearts big bang big bang! Now, now back to our regularly scheduled broadcast: Lilium Superbum Lilium Bulbiferum Lilium Pomponium Lilium Jankae Vanessa Lilium, it’s in sharing the tiny moments with you I feel fully full. With you I feel fully full. “Now crack that window, let the vines loose, let the bulbs loose.” And in the distance, now in the yard now through the cracked window I hear, “Welcome to Planet Neltron.” I did. “Welcome to Planet Neltron.” But who knows, it’s Thursday morning and I’m 5AM again and yer elastic smooth, skipping across shower tile, catch our reflection. “See it there?” Shower droplets stroke yer hair dry yer cheeks, like a reflective moment, like when I expect toothpaste, the most or the least. Vanessa Lilium, my dear, it’s in sharing the tiny moments with you I feel fully full. With you I feel fully full.

After Benjamin’s Angel Falling not flying but slipping through licks of light only to catch sight of blurred clusters of spiral quartz crystals clinging to slate sculptures that warble and sing pop song elegy remixed radio melody while invention quickened with liquor from an incomplete future recoils, unfurls twirls through nimbostratus end over end an asthmatic accordion makes public service announcements grunting and blowing gale winds and wine glass rims clinking behind windowpanes blackened with whipped caviar lipstick, “For safety purposes,” the asthmatic accordion wheezes finally, “ha-hailstones the size of space helmets.” How strange it is to be here embedded in gainsboro foam forgetting what we’ve learned and free of hands that once held us only to hear uncouth hymns all over again only to watch abandoned rocket ships flutter like tinfoil feathers into glacial lake water. No waves are unengaged in the push towards limits. The storm holds strong, the party rages on, what a spectacle!

Soil Charisma In order to determine conclusively the microphone’s final post-flowering state an online auto-diagnosis test requests the poet spit particle tones requests the farmer let hand drawn space helmets debase hampered soil horizons up to four layers deep. It is here you’ll seep into the zone of accumulation where Lemon Creek rocket fuel owns a glitch level ending in claws. It is here you’ll witness invasive species force breed new planets. Secondary treatment however requires faults at play. A microphone reseed may also be necessary. Good luck and water frequently.

heartlab: 20 Year X-ray for Anita Cherry blossoms sleepily upon the Brunswick green canopy. Lapis Lazuli between branches while X-ray light broadcast from speakers nested and humming up there in the highest branches spirals of pink softly flow down in a warm hurricane glow. Now shootin’ out from the light in yer skin how did the stars get in? Our hearts made into bright and silky tools this plush spring created all over again as rhythms reach and bend above the canopy let’s count every colour we can see. Kissing sleepily bone conductivity. Core the light and spit the seeds. Together we leave maps in doubt.

Winter Bed we were once that bouquet we were once that bound she says scarlet eyes I’ll never be a million miles away I’ll sniff yer garden out spell you out sample yer cuts pluck yer pretty frostbite I’ll undress yer skeleton with a fireman’s kiss girl if I get hold of you she says look out look how I can contemplate yer mouth blood star between our lips entangled decomposition the gelatinous phase the science of kissing the drone of droning the drone of moaning stay in yer skin stay in yer skin someplace near the surface stay ‘till mantra malfunction stay ‘till mantra meltdown stay ‘till we can’t tell invasive mantras anything stay well past not wanting to hear a single word of it not even the anesthesiologist can save us tonight she says scarlet eyes I’ll never be a million miles away but this fucking blood star between our lips is a breeding ground scarlet eyes I swear we grew an evil moon jelly in the garden from the purple violet orange green blue red it is true we grew an evil moon jelly in the garden all of the while sleeping in our winter bed that place that seldom seems warm a branch in the snow scarlet eyes I’ll never be a million miles away I say it’s all because of that blood star that bad seed caused me to eat the kid’s intestines for real this time you wouldn’t do that oh but I might I might sample yer cuts pluck yer pretty frostbite I’ll undress yer skeleton with a fireman’s kiss girl if I get hold of you I’ll shake and shake and shake the vines loose ‘till legs hang in silver space and take and take and take to yer skin and ignore the shed for 5 seconds already take to yer skin and ignore the shed for a season already now let winter moon jelly fill flower’s sleeping center now waking into a well rounded fingerprint spiralling out of mind stay and ingest vast quantities of this folded flesh we are the bouquet we are bound it’s just that at times I am over sensitive to the substance I ingest it’s just that at times I am over sensitive to the sunshine it’s just that at times I need to see how far out yer willing to get before you forget about this leftover skin and tuck in and tuck in

Chahko Mika Mall Parking Lot Every spring they repave and collect cluster analysis that suggests pigeons bathe in silica crowns nested and humming a soundtrack uttering directives: LAY ON GROUND REIGNITE FIXED STARS RETIRE WINGS QUICKLY Proudly pound on yer chest and sing, “Sea Otter Sea Otter!” Godzilla Squad gargle applause lines like young lions vibrate like a prayer bead every time I hear myself read: Da Da Da Da Nada Brahma Happy Horse Happy Horse where are you? I’m dancing in circles I’m practicing psychomatical rotations roasting a globster on a spit a Kokanee Blob over a hot fire are you fit? 3,2,1, done civic minimum, “You come everybody come!” This festive loneliness caught on phone a paranoid glitchnoid tootin’ a parking cone, “It’s a craft sale too ya know.” Yes kidney’s blanket-stitched like tweaking cobblestone. Now the organs are workin’ movin’ along at a real good click, “In a hundred years I’ve never heard like this.”

A Postcard from Neltron to Dearest Cultural Ambassanator There upon the simulacrum of home emblazon with chokecherry stamping Elephant Mountain fountain Day-Glo painted fragments plus carefully cut found photographs detain an autograph juxtapose and thumbtack the intended wilderness act and other GIF laden scenery amongst a hockey referee arms outstretched in the middle of it all images are sealed with glue derived from Ponderosa Pine pitch. Images packed so tight their cells drip honeydew. This one’s for you, Dearest Cultural Ambassanator: We’ve topped Neltron’s trees with Coconut Patties draped bushes with Salt Water Taffy to ease in your transition. These sentences concerning the aesthetic of improvisation: These sentences concerning things according to the needs of flow: Did art interrupt and leave you with loose ends? Did a slip from the front overturn you? Bag it up already let’s go! Listen to that Big Jim steam whistle blow. Bag it up already bring your Fish Tales home!

On How to Transfer a Cripple At the intersection between skating headlights, Jolene the directionally aware chevron queen leans into me, “I don’t care ‘bout yer spastic spasticity or whatever you call it. Yer dyskinetic cerebral palsy, yer jerky movements from the future yeah, they’ve arrived early.” Southbound on Sunday Avenue, well beyond the speed limit and still in a box. As red taillights vibrate and dip outta sight, Jolene says, “Johnny Satellite, you blink like funeral confetti. What will the moonlight think of those unsteady eyes?” Just then we see a driver’s mouth wide laughing like an axe wound. Fireworks from the speeding car. A 1969 Roadrunner. A real burner. As bruised fingers liquify into a meadow of midnight, Jolene the directionally aware chevron queen looks clear through me. And with the municipality of the galaxy Jolene says hypersonically, “June moon got the tonic-clonic blues! Are you listening to me?” Jolene says, “Johnny Satellite snap outta it. You hear me? I don’t care ‘bout yer dynamic velocity or yer silly brainstem. And fer all of the flaws that gawd does have I seriously doubt that being a cheapskate is one of them.”

On Conclusions of Uncertainty and Spillage slow lyric succeeds when it’s time to leave sound sprouts tiny flames in the canonized dawn mother outside bent in the lawn raking snow from shadows into sunny spots until poems decompose become melodious air and a forgotten future hears the fewer out there where glitch lips declare into unwound ears we exist here on the corner of Josephine and Gore spillage of rumpled sunlight