Tee party…

Hearing is the paramount sense:

the hiss of flylines,

the violent splash of rainbows savaging the fly,

the angry scream of the reel,

as a muscular Kamloops trout motors towards the bullrushes…

Nighttime provides a cloak of anonymity…

Revelations emerge that would not be offered,

in the glare,

of the afternoon…

— SAVAGE GODS AND SILVER GHOSTS by Ehor Boyanowsky

I recently remember,

using both terms loosely,

a married man,

as a way of flushing out,

my taste,

telling me,

how,

seeing Michelle Pfeiffer,

in a cat suit,

really tilted,

his rod…

I didn’t bite,

and kept my,

personal preferences,

about a five o’clock shadow,

standing riverside,

in surf shorts,

all to myself,

because it was none,

of his GD business…

What I did offer,

for him to chew on,

in response to his baiting,

was the statement,

that I seriously doubted,

if he were presented,

with the particular opportunity,

he infantilized over,

he would have a clue,

what to do with it…

If you spend,

your whole life,

playing out,

the winning,

of a Stanley Cup,

and dragging it through,

a pub crawl,

is the very best,

you can come up with,

as a way to celebrate,

your invitation,

to enter the temple,

of holy hockey,

it’s a sure sign to me,

that you’ve lost,

your clutch…

This morning,

over buttermilk pancakes,

I speculated,

that the V-Canucks,

as I now know them,

wouldn’t be caught dead,

carting,

the sacred vessel,

to a men’s club,

for a pole dance,

and what’s more…

Starshine chastised me,

from the dining room table,

by saying,

Mama,

you don’t really know those players,

and neither do I,

but I can see a lot of them,

thinking it’s perfectly fine,

to get hammered,

in the presence,

of everything,

they’ve ever wanted,

because they don’t know,

what else to do…

Little Gem said,

Could we stop talking about this please???

I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast…

And then as she brushed her hair,

before the school bus arrived,

she said,

I’m building a new hot tub,

because the first one failed…

Since visualizing,

is the standard,

in sports,

I’m working on a new list,

and first things first,

I see myself,

hanging from a helicopter,

on a giant ribbon,

wearing my lingerie hockey,

uniform,

embracing,

the most prized possession,

of the VHL,

swinging along Burrard Inlet,

over Indian Arm,

into the Upper Pitt valley,

like a Dolly Varden,

in full costume…

There’s a little less,

than twelve months,

to prepare Mars,

for the epic proportions,

of a season finale,

that is worthy,

of all of the effort,

about to be,

put forth…

Yes,

some claim,

hockey runs riots,

but the binary,

of that destructive force,

is the counter creativity,

it inspires,

and of that,

there is no distance…

On such matters,

I can only,

speak for myself,

by being,

the very fish,

I want to see,

in the world…

Last night,

like we do every night,

before going to bed,

Little Gem,

and I spent some time,

on equine now,

searching for horses…

When I found,

an 18 hh Shire,

from Alberta,

named Gretzky,

Little Gem said,

It’s in the spirit of Wayne,

that EVERYTHING,

is going,

to work out…