silent city poetry VFS acting essentials 10c

Paul, Kendell and I did a silent walk through downtown vancouver last friday, an exercise for voice class. We were not allowed to talk for the duration of the walk (~1 hour) We were then instructed to write a poem. Here is the result:

———
Run from the car for your little wing-ed life
like the penguin on the pillow over there
’cause here, if you want, you’ll be
king with a daisy, if only for a day
chiming, climbing while the clock sings for you.
Ring-the-rosy tree with iron, or copper like those
green patina wings, rising while I’m
Speaking of green can you spare me some change
or build me a train so you can run with me
at twenty-four / thirteen -
I dare you to chase me while I move
at a faster speed than you to the gardens of perfection
right. left. centre. up down all I see are
monoliths of green-blue glass no wait
there’s one that’s black like the sun look up
it’s the sun by the sun spelled out
like it’s never been moved by a gale force wind
oh right vancou-ver doesn’t get those -
downtown renowned, a little glass playground
defying even gravity.
I’ll stalk and not talk about your seeming perfection -
aspire and desire to retire in a square fishbowl will
foil in your window help? I really don’t know.
For now I’ll eat a shamrock
delicate and tangy so clean and shiny like that
stranger’s eye I caught passing by that natural neutral glance
as natural as a tree branch coursing through my veins
growing, slowing me down as I jump into a small
pail of … butts? Dried out, reconstituted
by last night’s rain. Gross, the water’s brown.
Look away to that twenty-first floor. I’m glad I don’t smoke
I wonder what they’re trying to fix
I swear it doesn’t look entirely safe, but look again
the water’s crystal clear, still and rushing at the very same time
Do you see the blue? Electric reflecting perfection
Your lack of smell is amazing
Must all be perfect? After all this
water glass grass perfection I will run run run far -
away is the word because I know, inside, that I am free
I am outside I can watch your seeming perfection and
gleefully sing to myself … “you’re as fucked as I am”

———

this is my headshot that i use at present. see, there are some days where I actually look good. too bad the picture is so tiny.