Canadian Massage


on the beat of the clock,
to slap stick drums with
dirty rims
and cracking limbs
move in tick-tock

taking wanderung through
kicked dry dirt
on dusted eye lashes
and chapped lips facing
silver forks cut from hiking paths

punched like a rhythm 
by narrow muscles 
stretched over arms 
of knobby joints
beating out shoulder kinks
of tight neck noughts 

dirty denim grungy kiss
of mud crakx
taken up in heaps of fleshy vowels
tuned to the metronome kicks
and tone def tricks
bleached like a song

light as a feather, stiff as a board
floating up across finger tip currents
taken under toe by spicy salsa and smooth 
electric eels jumping jacks

baby powdered greasy hair
silenced through thick and thin
bangs like blinds
sway with venetian flare
bouncing off peach fuzz,
silencing feed backs

beats happenin
in mute conversations
louder than a whisper
of Canadian massage
in hammered ground
by flesh covered
drum sticks


Alex Turgeon