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Three Poems By: David Walker
Karl Smith , April 12th, 2015 17:04

New writing this week comes to you via Montreal in the form of a veritable cornucopia of (three) poems by writer and editor David Walker

look-see (After Mark Rothko)

but what about the quiet things, the little dull things hidden between the big shiny things,
are these also formative, do these also count, is there virtue in their silence, is your lack of
recall somehow key, do the things you forget make you who you are and anyway who are
you, what about the things you could have been are they there too, in the picture i mean, i
mean when you paint it will it include what doesn’t make it in, will what you don’t paint
also be somehow painted, is there something crucial about that exclusion, anyway do you
dream of painting, do you have that in you, that kind of stillness;

people don’t focus in a continuous narrative stream except for that you know exactly at
which point in the story you learned this, sitting around which table, drinking which
colour, breaking which bread, asking which questions, fixating on which women, aware
of which failures, hoping for which clarity;

but what about the things you can’t see clearly are they there too, the things you can’t see
at all, and is this blindness a failure or is this blindness a symptom and is this blindness
blindness at all or something else, can blindness be deliberate, yes, can blindness be
painful, yes, if the blindness is chosen are you really truly blind, the same question about
fear, the same question about love, these things they say wash over you but for something
to wash over you don’t you have to just stand there, how long can you just stand there,
can you paint on your back, can you paint in your sleep, can you remember how this
started, is that memory really a memory, the thing about your painting is that it’s one hell
of a painting, the thing about your painting is it’ll always just be paint.

The Building of the Pyramids

Look down, ants on an ant-march to what,
look up, three giants kicking out at what,
and this film on your tongue, what to do about,
peace like a wailing, is this what you’ve been,
and collapsing outward, is that, and brand new ways
to say, to say what, is this that thing you,
I know I felt, is that enough of a

March with them, with the ants I mean the
ant-march just join in or otherwise, kicking
out at you kicking out at us, or otherwise
offer up your tongue, tongue like a highway,
peace like a wailing, one day making contact,
their boots I mean, with us I mean, ants up
and across and down and into, just knuckle the
hell up, the giants I mean, to grasp I
mean what, where did this, how could anyone,
it should have

Been, between I mean, between us, peace like
a wailing, breath like a wall I mean collapsing,
outward I mean, grasping like music, or is it the

And in the silence,

And the looks on their faces, their kicking
their movement, and now they’re in your stomach
now they’re eating you from the inside,
the giants I mean, the ants I mean,
peace like a wailing,

And collapsing outward, and making contact,
with us I mean, their boots I mean,
your stomach I mean,

Or is it between, and in the silence,
like a wailing, between us I mean,
if not collapsing,

And in the silence,

But could it have, for us,
could it have,

For us, I mean grasping,
like music, I mean

Like a wailing,

I mean


the randomness of pain occurring to two friends in the vastness of space

we’re weightless
breathing nothing
drifting at a perfectly
constant velocity
not looking back at the earth
because what’s the earth
but then someone
probably you
looks back
just for a second
and you laugh
and i say what
and you say oh
just thinking
and i ask what about
and you say tragedy
and i say what
and you say tragedy
how tragedy isn’t tragedy
how the inevitable things
are never what really hurt
and i say hmm
and you say yeah
and we smile
our shy little smiles
and float in space
some more

David Walker lives in Montreal. He runs a company called DuckRabbit Theatre and is the writer of the plays Beware Beware and You Can Change Anything Whenever You Want. He edits poetry for The Void.