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Chapter 7

Upon the completion of the reconstruction of the un-motorised motorhome, Tim believed nothing bad could touch them again because his reason led him to believe lightening never struck in the same place twice, so why would a tornado? But as we can previously recall, all Tim's walk that fine line between stupid and idiot.
Further proving our mutual knowledge, not understanding the value of money, Tim bought seven cases of beer with the cash he had saved on replacing the roof. Tim decided he was going to have himself a party.
The party would be on the very next night. A Friday! But since it was Thursday and there were seven cases of beer, Tim decided he could drink one of those cases on this Thursday. And at least another on Friday!
Tim was really happy. He thought it was a wonderful Thursday.
But it was on this Thursday, in the night, when they were sitting outside and around the Hibatchi, roasting hot dogs with Justin, who had dropped-in, so Justin was drinking beer, too, while both men, with bare feet on patio stones and faces full of chew, and while all were listening to the CD player that was sitting in the back bedroom's window, playing Garth Brooks and ZZ Top on random, that Tim was to find out bad things do touch people. More than once. Lightening struck first. It hit the television antenna, rigged to the roof. It started a fire.
"You stupid...fucking...idiot," his wife said to him, waddling out of the lawn chair, her hands fully of baby-belly, walking to the dirt road, in her ducky slippers. "I am going to Linda's."
An hour later, she was drinking coffee and still bitching.
And Tim and Justin were at Rusty's Tavern.
When the second tornado hit their un-motorised motorhome.


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When I was in Ottawa, abandoned and enthralled,
breathing in the
heat waves shimmering off the people
and the cats
and that lazy raccoon that I later named Mondrian in my mind
after I saw my first one,
I did not look for you.
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the magazines, in the new towns,
or down the old roads,
on silver screens, between the book shelves, down on my knees
hands in the clover.
I took you for granted.
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There you are.

I know myself
Far, far, far more than I let on
I know what I am doing.

Love is such an easy word.
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We can keep it there, easy, big, broad like the straight black painted lines, it's nice.
Effortless. Quiet. Assured.
So then, I guess that it is not the word.

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Minnie is 14. She likes wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
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I've been sold, I've been sold, I've been sold, I'm being sold-out
It is torture but
I don't even care
Except to love you more, to love myself more
Those hot-burned tears for you as I rally to save my skin
wind down me and leave behind gold and green
and I don't stop looking
until I look upon you
What on earth...
I've been sold, I've been sold, I've been sold.
I'm being sold-out.

Sunlight filtering through cracks
in the sky
in the walls
fall across your skin
I fingerpaint across your chest
Every word
known to man
and found in you

Fresh snow
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You are here!
I am here!
We are here!
Turn your face upwards
Let falling snow rest on your eyelashes
(dream of me)
Let the white melt on your outstretched tongue

It's spring.
Just one word.

I'd sit across the hall
looking upwards until I saw the flicker; light on
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