Canadian Traffic

There's a lot more to Canadian traffic
than motorways and sidewalks,
Rainbow and Peace Bridges,
and Clifton Hills or Yonge St.
Before the Yukon toward The Aleutian Islands,
beyond the QEW and Le Colisee
and every Tim Hortons at the rest stops
along the way.
While people bustle
along in their respective provinces,
the waterways with their whitecaps
sing an orchestra of harmonial value
that only few could imagine to dream
of hearing on a crisp, October day.

On a crisp, October day,
the leaves have changes and we see their ends.
But when Niagara falls,
where does it land
or does it get up again?
The squirrels, they seem
to run this landscape so fair
as if they were a mafia
bartering acorns for cash
and "Listen, I know where your stash is
so vacate quietly
or we'll run you over,"
unaware that maybe any squirrel's nuts
could be anywhere
and everywhere all over.
To them it's a world;
all one has to do is look.

All one has to do is look.
The Horseshoe Falls from 150 feet
back away from the drop-off,
toward the left on the United States' side
provides a picturesque postcard
offering everything imaginable in the
scenic eye of a well-wisher,
a heartfelt romantic, tasteless alcoholic
and everyone in between.
Drop your quarters in the viewfinder
so you can soak it all in and
begin to look around the country-cutting deluge.

As you're looking around,
notice the branches, bushes and rocks.
They lay silent
while the womb water for the world
spins, thrashes and panics against them.
The agony that flows throughout
is at once not only breathtaking,
but reminiscent of every cycle
of lives that change.
Take a picture of any step
at any time
so you can look back
just to see your changes.

Your change might not be as dramatic
as mine when viewing The Falls.
If death is an end to all living
then there is no better place to end
but there.
Save the flailing; save the torture.
There is no pain lost in a life
so lost
among sidewalks and sidestreets,
billboards and high-rises,
and all that is to be or not to be.
When I know of a day that the end is near,
may I make no other choice
than to go so peacefully.
Amidst the chaos and frequency,
no wave, rock or crest
will curtail me.
I'll be at my peace;
with them I shall be one.

I shall be one
with the defenseless, wingless birds
hopping around the manicured park.
Too scared to flee
and too disheveled to know better.
Smart enough to attack, but can't.
Won't.
There isn't flight if there isn't life
beyond this pretentious yet idolatrian
environment.
The way down is never so pretty.
But it is! But it is!

Yes it is,
compared to a curtailed lifestyle
when slung amongst the spoiled
and being left for dinner
when the squirrel mafia
demands a return.

I offer myself a life in return.
Passing back through the
exploratory areas, exhibits
and forced gift-shop experiences,
I would wander over
to approximately 150 feet
back away from The Horseshoe Falls drop-off.
This is the arrogance and beauty
of mind vs. sea.
Drop your quarters in the viewfinder,
for I am at peace.
Admire the waves and their presence;
admit that all that could've been done
was done.
It was what it was but
was never lived up
to what it should've been.
May the wingless birds cheer
when one of them
becomes the end to one of them.

The end comes without fury
against crashing idiosyncracies.
When I get there,
a life lived to its limit will perch
over the rail and
outside of the cameras
with every hope
of living undiscovered
and subsequentially
dying so anonymously.
Smoke and shot in hand,
I promise to freefall
with the same arms spread wide
that I offered to almost everyone.
Turn the camera on
to collect my smile for the last time,
because now it's real.

And this thought becomes so surreal.
As I exhale my last breath
of Canadian exhaust
on the less-attractive New York side,
I wave to signal love
with such a feeling that
life will move on after
my treacherous swim
into the unknown.
Everyone will settle eventually
as I become the past.
An unknown quantity am I,
misused and underrepresented.
I pass on regret.
I railed for my righteousness
against a normal flow. So this is...
now here I go!

I climb the rails
with my arms outstanding
and smile
as the cameras, squirrels
and wingless birds
watch
as I show them how it is
to be so dignified.
How to breathe freely
without stress or constraint.
I wanted more like they did
but couldn't achieve.
That's their life cycle,
but this is mine.

I become mine.
I hit motionless,
hitting what I hit.
I no longer detour,
I just devour
the last chance that existence has given me.
I glide the waves and
manuever the water
like an unmanned surfboard,
not minding collision
nor worrying the consequence.
I break the water entranced.
My horseshoe fell a long time ago
and I lived on the feeling
of never going back again.
The water
becomes as emotionless as I am
and I sail my human boat
over the edge
of the rocky, unforgiving crags
that have permeated my equilribrium.
Those that hate me will have their validation.
The ones who love me will understand.

Love me for who I am,
even if you know I'm not so much.
When I hit that sea
I'll be at peace
with no concern toward the outcome.
I've already known.
There's no warmer, safer
place to go.
Float me friskily and feverently
down the locks like I've always
led myself to
and let the Niagara carry my soul
to a well-deserved
goodbye.

I don't wish to make
traffic stop
but I have no idea
how to make it not.
I've given up on getting my way.
I am Canadian traffic
with my dollar on par
and no economy to spend it on.
I prefer the waterways
to the walkways
and the walkaways.
I'll plant a nice space in the riverbed,
perhaps never to be discovered.
Deep inside Canadian traffic,
I'll go unfound
and when I hit the water
all I touch
will make no profound sound,
just like now.