Estonian poet in Vancouver, BC.


 

I’m in the hills in North Vancouver.
I get on the busses heading downtown
producers and writers on busses
running to catch the ferry
that pulls you towards the high towers of the City
filled with the sun dancing
against the perfect blue sky
of old America

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The undulating mass of steam
rises from somewhere deep under the world
the lights flicker white-red
but I’m walking
amidst bums and cops
standing next to the Gastown
crazy world, crazy songs
an open window of the abstract
on the second floor of some squished
wild-bar betwixt

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The sky opens up
And it rains like never before
Mountain rain, looks like film
the perfect cry of an early night
and the city conducts
everybody on the sidewalks
neon stores popping like
a thousand eyes

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beatup, washed out rooftops
next to acrobats of glass
climbing high up the sky
making shadows of culture
when the light of the dawn
goes rolling over the hills

the weary, passionate, old, young Canada
all coated up in people and ideas
no telling
what’s on my mind

I’m writing. Checking out smokey basement bars to read my poetry. Finding people I vibe with.
It’s exciting, sky’s the limit and the girls are pretty.
I’m a 20 something white guy in Canada, what’s wrong?

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