bright club

(the last poem of 2009)

it took me almost a year
but i've finally got them all
for the better part of eleven months
i've spent all my evenings in space
just me and my trusty butterfly net
one by one i gathered each and every star
the shooting ones were the hardest to catch
they're not fond of stillness you know
one might even suggest
that they're a bit on the temperamental side
but you didn't hear that from me
i've spent many mornings patching holes in my duffel
because of all of their fussing about
but i've got every last one of them now
tonight, the entire world will look in wonder
at a sky that's only barely lit by the moon
i'd have taken her too, but there just wasn't room
when the blackness blankets us this evening
i'll take my sorry looking duffel bag from the closet
and gently place it down on the centre of my bed
i'll board up the window and remove the light bulb from the fixture
at the stoke of midnight, with a new decade upon us
i will unzipper my restless little friends
and watch as a gazillion brilliant stars fill my bedroom
don't worry - i'll put them all back
eventually

incandescence

a perfect smile adorns her face.
stunning!

and how am i to sit still
without touching? in morning light.

such wondrous arch of her back
seemingly perfect

attired in cloth of a damsel -
i pace emptied of reason.

the dewy drops of her cathartic
heart

carry me atop the clouds
watch me unravel

the landscape rolls itself out
spanning forever

her arms stretched behind her head
reaching for the setting sun

her eyes
dancing over my palette

i keep going back to her photograph
breathing in its pixels

i want her to be mine
mine to be hers

these lamps play games with me
casting resembling shadows

touching and feeling
nothing.

comfort

we get comfortable
set in our day to day's
walking the beaten path
baby steppin 'round the clock
keeping saturday's and sunday's for ourselves
we get our routine down pat
meandering until its time is up
we get comfortable
we get idle
we get stale
we give it up

milk cartons

no one ever really disappears
the police are looking in all the wrong places
all the milk cartons in the world won't bring them back
the missing people of the world
aren't really missing at all
they are the pigeons you see in the street
so be nice

god forbid

don't look too closely into my eyes
you may not like what you see
don't reach too far into my insides
you may not like what you find
don't listen too attentively to my song
you may not like what you hear
don't fall in love with me
you might just like it

cristes mæsse sonnet

let fallen snow blanket thine rooftop pitch
rosey-cheeked children sleep nestled in dreams
darned are the stockings of mother's gold stitch
hung on the mantle and stuffed to the seams
anisette for father, whom sleep awaits
nectar of thine cattle poured in a glass
baked goods arranged on the finest of plates
left is the waiting for nightfall to pass
drawn are the sheers to keep cold at its bay
the moon is eclipsed as weighted sleigh soars
the flame of thine candles flicker and sway
in shadows he looms; leaves soot on the floors
downing thine chimney is really quite slick
for a man the size of jolly st. nick

warm fuzz

give her the sun
but it won't be enough
give her a rain
of solvents and dust
give her a palace
one she can touch
give her your eyes
they bleed as they shut
give her dynamic
chords of warm fuzz
give her an empire
built upon love
give her your sweater
no ifs, ands, or buts
give her heroics
worn on the cusp
give her italy
florence at dusk
give her your organs
your blood and your guts
she picks the strings
they bend as they rust
give her the sun
parting is such
give her surrender
enough is enough

feel

corrugated pores
ethereal glimpse
snug as a bug in new york
writhing stethoscopes
coiled razor
nailed to a cross made of wood
damning filaments
straying siren
tethered it spins round a spear
weathering agents
glaring defiance
stacked in odds soaked in sulfur
prickling sensations
boisterous charmer
ironed in arid upheaval
desolate faces
softening blow
help me to feel something more

the elephant in the room

love is a funny thing
generally, we file it
under two categories
there's the "i love tammy,
we've been best friend's for years" love
and then there's the "i'm in love with kelly,
we're getting engaged" kind of love
we've got those two distinctions
sorted out just fine
but then there's that love
that falls somewhere inbetween
like when you are really
close to a girl and love her as a friend
but you're also very attracted to her
and there's some element of romance in the picture
you certainly love her in a different way
than you love your best male friend
but you're not in love with her
to the point that she's the only one for you
no one ever talks about that kind of love
maybe it's because people don't want to admit that it exists
love that transcends the standard categories
is probably bad news for couples
the love that blurs
is the elephant in the room
shhh....

d e l t a

don't ever lease that airplane
does eventually leave the air
drops enough lawsuits to avail
dilapidated engines lead to affordability
doesn't efficiently learn to aviate
did elevators load the artillery?
doesn't ever listen to airtrafficcontrollers
dead ends line the airways
drank enough liquor to aviate
drastic escape leaves travelers awed
drop everything: leave the air!
disastrous engine leak thwarts airplane
does envy lithuania's technological advances
drowned everybody last time around

anna

when you're a bad seed
you typically attract
all kinds of other bad seeds
so that you can feel better
while being bad together
ten bad seeds in a pod
can make for one hellofa friday night
the booze, the drugs, the women
it's all so wonderfully bad

but sometimes
there's that part of you
that wishes you could
come across a little good
something pure
and something untouched
by all the bad that finds you
day in & day out

i finally found that
in a girl named anna
she has the biggest heart
of anybody i know
and i find myself taking
some time off from bad
so that i can take in
all the good that she has to offer

and when the rest of us are alone
on the floor beside an empty bottle
anna will still be surrounded
with the love of her friends and family

here's to hoping that just maybe some of that will rub off on me

frogger

i fight my way
through the shower curtain
stand under the scalded milk
falling from the shower head
scrub away absent-mindedly
half-heartedly towel dry
fight my way into yesterday's clothing
lock the window behind me
slump my shoulders down the stairs
leave through the front door
embrace the grey november day
pack my ears full of interpol
fight my way through the turnstiles
watch the crowds filing into the subway
take a seat beside a pretty girl
turn the volume all the way up
watch all of their mouths move
eye their fingers drumming pda's
miss my stop and curse some
exit at the next station
climb back up into the grey november sky
wait at the stoplight
consider entering the intersection
with my eyes closed tight
unable to hear their honks
and the screech of their tires
imagining impact at the height of the song
i fight my way past the best idea i've had all day

fool's gold

i'm completely screwed
again
and i know it
the realization
of its extent
is just beginning to sink in
like a firecracker to the face
an extravagant show of explosion
sure to dazzle those who slow their cars
to get a better glimpse
of twisted metal
twisting into flesh
i've been down this road before
and i know exactly where it leads
it's a place i can't return to
and yet, just like that
i've arrived
hellbent in a white squall of fire and brimstorm
i let my guard down
and in so many words -
I'M COMPLETELY FUCKING ENAMORED WITH YOU
it's stupid just how much
i've thrown cool
right out the window
after holding onto it for so damn long
with vice grip-like intensity
i'm not sure what to do or say anymore -
i'm inside-out, and all out of sorts
somewhere short of sort of
i worked so hard
to be nearly made of stone
and now i'm flying
a vulnerability & crossbones
flag in my sails
at the total mercy of my mind's longing
and my heart's ability to keep up
there's always fool's gold
in the rainbow's furthest reaches
the gold is real enough alright
that - i'm absolutely sure of
but it's fool's gold within my own enervated grasp
because she is gold
that belongs to someone else
quickly everyone,
please take your seats
slow down your cars
the show is about to begin

racing horses

i fell apart. wind took my itty bitty pieces
scatterbrain illustrations awash in seesaw mud
the violence in her is oh so good by golly
the caves we dwell in all have passe colour schemes
tiny rivets worn and driven into her crown
set your sights on monte cristo motherfuckers
there's people underneath your bloodstained staircase
watch where you step 'cause it's a long way down
we fell apart and fucked our alphabet thoroughbred
rising up in waves. feeling pulled apart. at their mercy
the sung hymns wail with the underground sky train
its heavens pour upon us. relentless. cast iron voice
in mechanical transactions. your tiny hands can't hold it all in
for fear of communist jibber jabber soggy hoboken hogwash
we're wearing sybols of the walking suns
bent augmented decor with dropping eyelids
magnetic orgasms achieved in abandoned but fully operational lighthouses
the violence in her is oh so good by golly
giving up. under canopies. dark with fraying canvas
another lover is beheaded. so. be. it

pearly white noise

i know a girl
who never brushes
her teeth in the bathroom
that's not entirely true
she always starts and finishes there
but inbetween
she ends up back in my bedroom
as though she's determined
not to miss a thing
that i might do or say
i like that about her

new york doll

let's stop all this craziness
just for a minute or so
let the pieces fall into place
like strawberries stacked in abandoned shopping carts
we don't know when we'll see each other again
perhaps we should make this count
oh i don't know, the stars never really align
the random sky makes storybooks out of clouds
i have secrets i'd rather not die with

bodies succumb

(my first attempt at a shakespearean sonnet)

let me stop for a moment to watch you
street light cascades upon your darling face
fevered is the beauty we let shine through
slowing rhythm commands the body's pace
we swell in the softness of sheets beneath
our hands are our trains that converge at last
all but the sound of our tongues upon teeth
slow is the rolling of curves that run past
great butterflies stir in every which way
and blood that's drawn from bitten upper lip
motion explored as we move and we sway
my tongue in your mouth, my hand on your hip
it's all in our eyes as we satiate
bodies succumb to the force we create

bobby pins

seated across from her
on the perfect fall day
we share a prosciutto sandwich
and kindness in comfortable silence
we share our thoughts
and we share each others eyes
as the colours turn and the people pass
sewn together in silk-threaded luminescence
we share each others cherished smiles
swallowed up in gallant orange aloofness
we sit and fondle without so much as a touch
i watch as the foam collects on her upper lip
while the colours turn and the people pass
and we share each other
for as long as we possible can
over cappuccino and cream
behind long drawn sugar shears
as the colours turn and the people pass
and for a moment stretched out like a rubber band
we get lost in each others irises
idle and solemnly content
sharing a moment stretched out like sprawling country miles
the very best part of my day has come and went
as the colours turn and the people pass

false melody

whether right
or wrong
i try to write
from the heart
neither here
nor there
i pour it out
in scribbles
upon pages
to let the
demons out
and the disease
that keeps me
writing these
is calling
after me
to feed
its needs
from the
hand
to the
mouth
and down
to the
heart
i swallow hard
and fall apart
whether right
or wrong
i try to write
from the dark

please check the number and try your call again

i'm in a laundromat
right where all this silliness started
someone has written on the wall -
for a good fuck call rosie
as well as what is presumably
rosie's phone number
i dial it out of curiosity
the number has been disconnected
i guess she got sick of hearing
from all the curious ones
that came before me

ramona

my grandma had a way with words
and an unrivaled ability to detect bullshit
she'd say "michael, if you told that to a dead horse
it'd get up and kick ya"
indeed grandma
indeed

keep out of reach of children

it's getting to be that time again
to pay my doctor a visit
i'm feeling pretty bad, i'll say
he'll crack a joke to lighten the mood
he always does
women, he'll say, they'll do that to a man
i'll give him a half-smile
and shift in my chair some
you feel better in the summer, don't you?
you never come around in the summertime
he'll say from behind my file
i'll shift some more and then i will say
who cares? it's november
i guess we better up the dosage, he'll suggest
i guess
he'll scribble doctor all over the pad
thanks, i'll say, and take care

smooth talker

when i was young
they all said the same thing to me
my teachers, the parents of friends
my aunts, uncles, grandparents
hell, even my own mother and father
they'd say "michael, you could be
the best car salesman this side of detroit"
or "you're going to make a great lawyer some day"
even "have you ever considered a career in politics?"
i was young enough to be flattered
it was only years later that i realized
what they were all really saying
- michael, you are one sly and manipulative
little sonofabitch
and they were right

black sparrow press

i'm on my bed
it's around noon
the coffee is so so
the radio is speaking classical
the high school students
have taken over my front entrance
winter is creeping in
it's cold in my room
i shiver and light a smoke
must be a window open somewhere
i wish i had some slippers
there's a lot of creaking in the halls at this hour
it's an old building and it wears its age in endless ways
i think that the yankees will win the world series tonight

the time we never had

i'm not sure
just how to let you in
i've been burglarized
of a heart that pulsed
and fed the veins within
i'm a traffic light
with its own mind
i'm always stuck on red
i'm a suicide
not caught in time
and i'm a letter never sent
but i want to hold your hand
i want to make sure
that you understand
that i'm falling for you
and i don't know what to do
because i'm terrified
that i'll let you slide
before you're ever mine
because i'll push the clocks
ahead a month
and blame it on the time
that we never had

it was my grandfather

it was my grandfather
who taught me to throw
and to catch
in his backyard
in the summer grass
it was him who taught me
not to close my eyes
as the ball approached
and to squeeze my mitt
when the seems encroached
it was my grandfather
who taught me patience
fishing on the lake
at the cottage
even taught me to enjoy the wait
it was him who taught me
how to drive that boat
how to dock her
tie her up
and keep her safe

the stress of horror

take
me with you
when you go
take my hand
and lead me out
the door
i don't want
to be
alone
not today
not ever
not
anymore
than i want to be a shapeless sight
in the thrill
of the topless night
alone in the throws
and galloping woes
of the brightest star
in a garden with keats
attired
in old-fashioned
clothes
never made the man
take
me
with
you
when you go
i'll be good
i promise
not to annoy
you
anymore than
i normally
do
take me out
breathe me
in
you look deadly
in the green room's
candle lit glow
under unassuming tones
and table manner banter
and heavy-pour drinks
we drank
just us
at a table of three
gone was the stress of horror

what goes around cums around

a hole is an aperture
an aperture is a window
a window is an opportunity
an opportunity is a chance
a chance is a break
a break is a drag
a drag is a puff
a puff is a cloud
a cloud is a curiosity
a curiosity is a killer
a killer is a woman
a woman is a pain
a pain is a window
a window is an aperture
an aperture is a hole

melancholia

i am singing in reverse
up the coast
under twisted tree limbs
encroaching on the roads edge
it's pretty and scary all at once
i sit down to remember her
like the feeling of sand
under my feet

the walrus i was
has washed up on the shore again
feed for the swooping birds
nothing is wasted
my haunted guts wretch
and mingle with the lonely
rusty lawnmower that runs
over my spleen with ease
with cool vengeance

we're tired with dreaming
fed up with stitching us
back together
piece by bloody piece
another bus goes by
without stopping
for our broken feet
a traffic signal refuses to turn
somebody kicks the chair away
they hang in an empty bedroom

the floors are spotless

an unspecified amount of thrusts forward / two steps back

it doesn't matter
how many i get under
it always feels
like i'm getting over someone

famous cuts

beethoven cut the legs off of his piano
to feel the vibrations in the floorboards
van gogh cut his ear off
to demonstrate the mother fuck that is love
john and yoko cut their hair off
to raise money for the poor - 'cause they could
michael hutchence cut off his air supply
to intensify an orgasm
herod cut off the head of john the baptist
to fulfill a woman's one and only wish; on a platter
we all have our reasons
what will yours be?

perforation theory

there are holes in my walls,
my guitars
and holes in my heart.

there are holes in my memory,
my headphones
and holes in my bedspread.

there are holes in my stories,
my socks
and holes in my nipples.

there are holes in my women,
in my sheets
and holes in my theories.

there are holes in my records,
my ozone
and holes in my dreams.

there are holes in my poems,
my past
and holes in my screams

it's all the holes that make us whole,
make us laugh
and it's holes that cut us in half.

fuck me - there are a whole lotta holes
for us to get past.

going through the motions

when a one night stand says to me
i don't normally do this kind of thing
and i reply with - hey, me either
we both know that we're both being
less than truthful
but we always say it anyways
it's just the thing to say
when you're one night standing

it's raining in london

i miss her body in the spring
i miss her freckles in the summer
i miss her outfits in the fall
i miss her mittens in the winter

i miss her crankiness in the mornings
i miss her phone calls in the afternoons
i miss her more in the evenings

it's raining right now in london
but that doesn't bring a smile to my face
i hope for her sake - it lets up

tequila sunrise

i'm the grenadine
the tequila and the orange juice
they mix it up all around me
i just sink to the bottom
alone

poetical correctness

my mother always said to me
that if i couldn't find anything nice to say
then i shouldn't say anything at all
that's why i write all of my thoughts
down on paper

orange glow

(for hal)

the neon beer sign says to me
go to bed you idiot
i shrug it off. ask the pretty
bartender to pour me another
and a shot. one for hal too
these days, the nights bleed into
each other. weeks pass by
before i get up to visit the sun
the people at work make me cringe
the posters on mail boxes and
newspaper boxes and telephone poles
change daily. someone is always
coming to town. the dates fly by
i keep thinking of people i can't have
and dismissing those who are knocking
at my door. no chase: no thrill
pour me another under neon
there's lots to be forgotten
and we're just getting started
fuck everybody

my dear

mi dia comienza cuando tu apareces

ed's daughter

we met at my apartment
it was fall and school had already started
my roommates were away for the weekend
she made me a little nervous at first
i drank to compensate for the nerves
she asked me to go out and play in the rain
it sounded like a bad idea and i told her so
she hounded me and wouldn't let up
so i gave in and off we went to the lake
i was cold and wet and miserable
but at least i had the good sense to bring the beer with us
then she suggested that we go in the lake fully-clothed
i wondered just what the hell i had gotten myself into with this one
but she was breathtaking under the moon and i couldn't resist
we splashed each other and laughed in the waves
we play fought until we were suddenly mid-embrace
then we were very much quiet from that point forward
in each others arms; careening in the surf
it was the kind of moment that romance writers spend their lives aspiring to create
we danced under moonlight until she shivered with blue lips
then we raced back to my apartment
i turned the shower on as hot as we could stand
and we jumped in still fully-attired
we kissed under the running water
it was a good first kiss and then she fainted in my arms
when she came to and alleviated my concern for her well being
i thought to myself: i will never be as cool again the rest of my life as i am in this moment
and i've never looked at the rain the same way since
true story

dig

there's real beauty to be found
in all the ugliness
that's all around us
all the time

pay day at the tap

we're at the tap
yes - again
so what? i'm here with friends
of the 5 star variety
michael and hal
and all the rest of them
the live band is a nice touch
they only do that here once a month
they're playing jets right now
whoo-oo-oo whoo-oo-ooo jets!
i've seen mccartney do it live
the only beatle i've ever seen
he did it a little better
in a slightly bigger venue
but this is a judgement-free zone
michael is dissecting the band's set-up
hal is dissecting the blonde at 6 o'clock
this is kinda like home for me
as sad as it may seem
organic chords
clinking glasses
a tom petty cover
a bartender who knows our names
jack always shows
my current fixation
is messaging me - i'm sorry's
i tell her not to be
this heart was made for tampering
without it: there'd be no poetry

sorrow is such sweet parting

we knew this day would come
like death and like taxes
we welcomed it like winter
like sunrise and like madness
did our best to preserve it
tried our darnedest to bottle it
in a mason jar with a faltering lid
we just couldn't keep it air tight any longer
we tried our damnedest - really, we did
but sometimes we're just not meant to last
our number came up
like sunrise and like madness
you can scribble it out all you want
but you can't change the date of expiration
so i swallowed hard
and poured her milky thighs
down the kitchen sink
put on my bravest face
and walked out into the madness
exhaling like death and taxes

revenge is a dish best served with salt & pepper hair

i'm at that age now
where my handsomeness is fading
by the day
i'm starting to look more and more
like my fourth grade teacher
mrs. socket - that hideous educational troll
it gets a little more gory
with each pass of a mirror
some days it's too much to take
which one of you assholes
stapled an old chewed boot
to my face, while i was passed
out on the jack?
i'm at that stage now
where my handsomeness is fading
by the day
and she still looks as young & ripe as ever
but the fat lady has yet to sing
and nature's got a taste for irony
and just when she gets settled
into a mrs. socket skin of her own
i'll get my first glance at distinguished
looking back at me in the bathroom mirror

hello/darling

gentle
that was her
and giving too
fast asleep
under sheets
watching tv

grinning always
you're too kind
you're too kind
she would say
you're too kind
again and again

loud speaker paint splatter

i fell into her laughter
her soul
her fucking
her

confusion
that was us
in the depths
under the swarm
under the sheets
mesmerized just so

i fell into her

i can remember her every step
on that boardwalk
and each direction that her dress moved
in the august wind
we laughed endlessly

we played each other
in supporting roles
shot in black & white graininess
over theatre applause
in a kensington market

i fell into her moving mind

i fell into her laughter
her soul
her fucking
her

leading ladies

i keep a cast
of pretty girls
close by
always close
never more
than a telephone
away
for all the rainy days
and sleepless nights
and the cool october
mornings
i love them all
in different ways
for different reasons
if i lost my phone
i'd be devastated
all my starlets
gone in a flash
they'd shut
down production
i'd have to recast
all over again
i'd complain
to the new ones
that they weren't
right for the part
all my pretty starlets
i love them all
i take them
everywhere i go
they're so dear
to my heart

now that you've already bought the book...

poetry is rarely found on pages
it's what crawls on your skin
ink can't fully encompass its being
it is far too potent a medium for paper
it'd burn right though it like acid
it does stand up on the back of your neck
but it doesn't get reprinted in different languages
because pages can't contain its essence
it does, however, punch you in the gut
when you hear the words
i don't love you anymore
that's poetry in a nutshell
sorry - no refunds

arrest this girl

i kissed a russian girl
at a radiohead show
in the czech republic
she asked where i was staying
i told her that i wasn't too sure
she asked if i would join her later
for drinks in her two star hotel
and i said that i surely would
she threw-up four songs later
well now that's just great!
the karma police
have crashed our party
i guess this is what we get
still, i can't think of a better venue
to endure such bad luck

doctor gonzo in a bathtub with a plugged in radio playing jefferson airplane

the scars on my wrists have faded nicely
it was a lengthy process to get here again
new cells and news hopes and new meds
but old habits die hard when dying
and i find myself wanting to relapse in the bathroom
feeling better behind a locked door
with only the sound of a running faucet
come to think of it
the floorboards needed a fresh coat anyways

town crier

i awoke this morning
and sprang out of bed,
unfastened the case
and held my guitar to the light.
i cut through all the strings.
returning it to its resting place,
i took a moment to take it in.
with a smile on my face
i thought to myself -
there! now that's better isn't it?
and then i went back to bed

scary things on the ceiling

douglas coupland
tried to warn me
his words died in vain
i drank an entire bottle
of robitussin anyway
that's it, from now on
i'm taking literature
far more seriously

bitter/sweet

lately
my heart's been breaking
but at least i know it's
still there

binding separation

sometimes late at night
we turn pages together
from separate beds
separated by streets that intersect
our pages pressed between clean sheets
pushing us into separate heavens
marching on the prose of typed sentences
our plots twist where our limbs won't reach
sometimes i wish our reads were side by side
so that i could be there when sleeps finds her
to separate the story from her falling hand
and replace the covers over her shoulder
tucking adjectives under her slender frame
sometimes late at night
i wish we weren't so separate

he nursed a hang over and rested on the 7th day

when the good lord
creator of all things
sat down on a dull day
with a good stiff drink

his first task was to make a man
so he slipped into his holy tool belt
and considered the list of materials on hand

he finally settled on wrought iron
for it was as strong as the whiskey
that made him so hot & tired

along the way
he fucked something up
he must have mismeasured
didn't check
and made the final cut

he was left with 187 inches
when he only needed 181
opting not to make a second cut
he said "fuck it" and left a hanging gun

content with his phallic mistake
he moved on to make his man a mate

when god invented woman
he wanted something curvy
he downed another bottle
and got all tipsy-turvey

he piled layers of dirt
and moulded fleshy mounds
with which this girl could flirt
and dazzle all the towns

it wasn't long before he ran into trouble
he wanted four sightly breasts
but he'd been seeing double

not to fret, up his sleeve he had an ace
he covered his creation in the softest human lace

he didn't have enough
with which to upholster
so he shrugged again
and left an empty holster

i'll just say it if it pleases
if it weren't for the bottle
there'd have been no baby jesus

god was not so good a carpenter
but it's allowed me to have fun in the dark with her

and though it was risky
thank the lord for that whiskey

without it
he'd have never let him hang
and sunk her in
not to mention...
not a single clint eastwood western

the end

next! (of kin)

when i was in berlin
i met a girl
and suggested sin

as a guest in your country
it's only fair
that you kiss me
over there

behind the trees
away from your sister

i propositioned her first
and she's already agreed

but she's a bit of a bore
and i think i like you more

as a guest in your country
it's only fair
that you kiss me
down there

on your knees
behind the trees

day sweet day

it has since switched hands
but there once was a time
when we owned a day of the week
the bank approved a mortgage
lady real estate handed us the keys
to our very first sunday together
at the top of st. lawrence street
we debated take-out menu paint chips
and rolled the walls in a shade of tv on dvd
polly filling hayden songs into the cracks of the sheets
sunday was ours and we kissed for keeps

your title is safe with me

we are playing
a perfect game
of cat & mouse
making up the rules
as we go along

slipping in and out
of each others
heads & beds
making up excuses
as we go along

i shy away
until another day
until i can no longer
take it
and then it's her
that takes a turn
at prolonging instant
gratification

in this perfect game
of cat & mouse
of ours

we are playing

taking back tuesday

work work
go away
go fuck yourself
and keep your pay

i quit

asia is not a city in china

over your head
sailed my humour
yet again

we carry
awkward silence
like halos

soft & weak

could your eyes
be any more
vacant?

like stars
under
big city lights

flip the switch
on the hot blonde
vacancy sign

let's let
something shine

soft & bright
"too knight"

narrated by alec baldwin

i said let's do coffee
she said "sure"
i said there's three places
on the corner
the choice is yours
she chose the one i wanted
i should have kissed her
right then and there
but i chickened out
'cause i'm not the care-free
handsome devil you see in the movie
real life is more of a low buget
documentary on anxiety

how to measure cool

step 1 - select text messages
step 2 - compare total number of messages in inbox vs. outbox

if your inbox is greater than your outbox -
you're ok!

an old song poem

i have a dream
where you and me
are alone

high above the sun
on we clouds we run
far away

i dream in 4/4 time
play, pause, rewind
in metronome blue

i've lied a thousand times
i've made up my mind
that it's all true

you were the first love
but now your gone

the move is to the queen
now the pawn's on the run

the move is disastrous
i'm what you're missing now

the 2 girls 1 cup in the photograph

i'm in safe hands

right this very second

seated next to anik

watching shakira shake her shit

it's been a whole day of laughing

we're finding antiques that you're

only seeing on display

within tv screens

while i swat at spider webs in my hair

she uses a spoon to open bud light limes

we're a couple of computers

sittin' side by side

old splintered college hacks

just shootin the shit & the sites

one day

she just fell from the skye

eight years later

her and i

still

sit

side by side

giving head over heels

silly little airliner troubadours, ejected out the windows
all horns a blazing blasting brass turbulence and static
wake up and suck the atmosphere until it comes in your mouth
reach out and feel the phallic rush of atoms high above the earth
there's nothing you can't accomplish at 30,000 feet in such an orgy
we're in this together now so somersault and twist and lick and suck
blow jet engine kisses to the fast approaching pavement
pale falling bodies passing floating fluids between our mouths
swing your partner round and round and blow your final statement
foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india novemeber golf: until we hit

lorn

exes and ohs
primitive awes
steeping in throats
my god, you are the prettiest little number
i could wake up beside you forever
if only i could fall asleep

if only i could ever dream

a sequence that dances around your figure
wrapped in seagull wings and tasting bitter
following the sun until it slips
beneath your skirt
without a glimpse

watch out here i come

angus glen

a bee stung me
while i was putting
on the eighth hole green
right in the neck
of all places
and then i three-putted
for a lousy eight on the card
still, i made out better than the bee though
he didn't even make it to the ninth hole tee

the dresden fluorescence

seated at my desk in this hole in the ground of an office
whoring-out my powers of persuasion for a comical commission
down here where money is everything: its 1945 in wintered dresden
still virtually untouched by world war II, but battered by the 2009 recession
a safe haven for refugees, men, women, p.o.w.'s & salesmen
today, we're stuffing bodies into royal alexandra's orchestra section
but under these god awful fluorescent light fixtures:
it's starting to feel like its february 13th, 1945 in unassuming dresden
the british royal air force and the united states army air force are soaring overhead
their heavy bombers are dropping 8,000lbs of high explosives, 650,000 incendiary devices
and on me: a million photons falling from the fixtures
of course, it's a ridiculous and shameful analogy: i'm the first to concede it
but salesmen under such inhumane lighting circumstances :
are bound to make up such crazy comparisons
a disputed number of thousands lost their lives on that shameful day in firebombed dresden
tonight i'm only going home with a headache and no commission
i'm sorry that i even conceived of this one

marigold

i am the reflection in a car window
bent and ruined and out of proportion
wavering like the unsettled sea afar

it exhausts me to try to focus
these massive hands fall at my side
all the while people in sharp detail pass behind

i am a daniel johnston song
banged out in his uncle's suburban garage
the people around me kick and scream and cover their ears

i'm only really around some of the time
it doesn't leave me much of a window to play with
only when the sunlight hits the glass just right

by design

even the clouds
are dragging their feet this morning
it's not just me, i swear it
see for yourself:

miles and miles of women are laying on their backs
their spines sprouting up from shifted concrete
gucci handbags lost down the cracks in the sidewalk
all of us lining the streets in stillness
jaded yellow dresses flying flags of golden nuance

we're so subtle when were this immobilized
things will never be quite this perfect again
even the clouds
drag their feet
on mornings like these

keeping my mind elsewhere

i read and read
as if god himself
is behind each page
with a lit match

kindness

love let you touch itself
like unsuspecting violence.
a carriage delivered its doctors
and swung its doors to caution.
we took our proper place amongst the bowels nearest heaven.
still we sat, our bodies twisting in hydrants,
aching to be opened.
my naked limbs are yours and yours are mine.

all night we felt our voices echo open syllabic.
our pressed bodies posed just so
for others to breathe in, love and fully lavish.
i felt for your your open windows
and reached in for your museum, just in time to warn
the strangers settled in our tendons. we fell apart
and let the drafty halls upend our coupled swellings.
my open legs are yours for the taking, she cried.
and swung them wide and forced them open.
we swallowed hollowed stars
and built you a nightgown of the finest darling scars.
we fell apart and let our bodies be fought.
fully bludgeoned; thinking sweetness.

paint the town red

such an arousing thrill
o what a celebration it is
sending up reddish balloons of blood
who knew that cutting could be so fun

little light-headed warrior
your left hand scalped your right wrist
swung its veins open to the ink-filled night
and sewed its prize on tree-lined necklaces
o what a thrill it is to feel so alive

so damn aware of your heart for a change
it's as if you've only just met
listen to it pump its rivers in ravenous flow
let is saunter its spill in loving mathematics
counting its rhythms and begging its gush

tonight we get personal

keeper of the palace

there's a man who sits all day
in front of my apartment
his back holding up lee's palace
a little cardboard box in his lap
always seemingly empty of currency
dirty blue jays duffel at his side

i've watched this man for a year now
always keeping the wall at a 90 degree angle
he's been a lesson in mental health
a sort of live science project
right out there on the curb
mum for the longest time
that man was

he never said a word to anybody
i guess he had hoped
that the cardboard box would say enough
despite its ineffectiveness to draw

then one day a few months back
this passive panhandler of a man
began to speak
to the imaginary man now beside him

sometimes to his left
and sometimes to his right

then he began to point to this nobody figure
and he spoke in a muffled growl
wearing his madness in a hateful gaze

all that i know of this other man
is that he has a mustache
much to the dislike of our once passive
keeper of the palace

over and over and over
he points and growls and girts his teeth
"tomorrow, that mustache is coming off"
he sings

i've never seen such passion for facial hair
real or imaginary

i wish that the chemicals in his brain
would make imaginary mustache man shave
so that he could do his job in peace

like he used to

counting sheep

a sullen breeze
dances down the
city's crowded corridor

supremely pressed
stark white
shirts obscured
by bay street suits

expensive watches
showcase the time
in all the major markets
keeping track
of all the appointments
in all the world

everybody's got a place
to be and a person to
see and a pitch
to knock em dead

parking tickets
subway transfers
accounts payable
hot dogs in motion

footsteps pounding
like pistons
over a greasy asphalt grill

what the hell are all of these people really up to?
surely it can't be as important as they'd like to think

if you put tracking devices
in all the hot dogs in this city
even the most skilled
air traffic controller
would throw his arms up

revolving door

there's a bobby pin on my floor
a bottle of red nail polish on the organ
a sweater here, a bus pass there
sunglasses, underwear, lip gloss, eye shadow
and a hair on the pillow, too long to be my own
little pieces of people left behind
parts of people forgotten and never missed
exhibits in a scattered collection on display
dead things really, cold and far removed
from the evenings that they came to be here
i let the objects fall where they may
undisturbed, they settle into my space
sometimes i think that i should put them all in a shoebox
for safer keeping, for when i'm old and gray
and new additions have long since stopped arriving
each item representing a night with their previous owner
a sort of lost & found
orgasm side efects
really though, i'd just like someone to stick around long enough
to say "hey, have you seen my.....?"

third world writer

you don't get to refer to yourself
as a starving artist
if you make enough to get by
but piss it all away on booze and pills
that's simply known as starving

draw a diagram on the way in

i keep crawling in and out of beds
searching for something familiar
it can be an exhausting routine
let me tell you

the bathroom is never where i would guess
my toothbrush is never amongst the others
the aspirin bottle always seems to be empty
the shades never seem to perform

my lungs scream carbon monoxide hymns
while i keep crawling in and out of beds
it can be an exhausting routine
let me tell you

the towels are always hidden away
my toe is always catching the corner of the wall
i can never seem to find my shirt
i'm always stepping in the cat's water dish

is it too much to ask for a night light
while i keep crawling in and out of beds
it can be an exhausting routine
let me tell you

the hallways are always crooked
the stairs are always water slides
my belly is always tossing the whiskey around
i'm forever stepping in the cat's water dish

and that's not even the worst of it
when i keep crawling in and out of beds
let me
tell
you

it really becomes tiresome
when i try to find my way back to her room
for just another hour of sleep before the first subway

and then just as i begin to dream of better beds
i hear her down the hallway
calling out my name

and i wonder
just who the hell i've got my arm wrapped around?

t.i.f.f.

for kevin gill

i asked a pretty girl in the street
for a cigarette once
but she didn't have one
then a paparazzi snapped a photo of us
she was a very polite girl
with a playful demeanor
pretty as sin

soon after, my friend
really gave it to me
"do you know who that was?" he cried
i just shrugged
"heather fucking graham,
that was heather fucking graham, dude"
oh yeah?
"you don't just waltz up to heather graham
and casually ask for a cigarette"
hmm, i drew a blank
he listed off all of the films she had starred in
it was an impressive list
but i was still without a smoke

the next day in check-out lines
of supermarkets somewhere in america
ladies with too much make-up and poor diets
ogled over trashy headlines
"heather graham's new mystery man"
it might have read
spelled out in bold red lettering

i guess i couldn't be reached for comment
better to keep em guessing i suppose
i'm sure her press agent had plenty to say

god favours sad colombians

cocaine is
the only instant
cure for depression
short of ruining
a perfectly good rug

surfaces

the problem with beautiful women
is that they are rarely ever seen
it's quite a shame when you think about it
i'm fortunate to have at least
truly seen a few in my lifetime
or maybe they're the fortunate ones

where the west went south

i trust any country
that spells alcohol with a k
and sells bottles of beer
for less money than bottled water

today

the morning awoke without a sound
something like perfection
we passed a bottle of cheap daisy wine
and rolled in the cotton candy grass
somewhere in a forbidden grove
on an eastern european plain
while drowsy petals floated down
filling our hair with all kinds of colour
we tied all our limbs together
taking turns pouring into each others mouths
throwing lit matches into the communist sky
pointing to various body parts
reciting them in our native tongue
we agree to go by make believe names
for a friendly game of kiss & tell

charles bridge is falling down

i pee'd out the hotel window
more so on the ledge really
my mom wasn't too pleased
but she wasn't mad either
she knows it's in my genes
absinthe surely shares in the credit
i denied doing it
like i always do
when i'm fast asleep
i hear all all about it in the morning
and wonder how i'll ever keep a wife
with this sleepwalk peeing disease

city of a hundred spires

tap into walt dizney's most imaginative childhood dream
commission an overly ambitious architect on lsd
build the god damn thing from the ground up
call it prague
watch them flock

plenty of vacancy

somewhere north of prague
in melnik, at hotel ludmila
there's no pool here
just a bowling alley
in the bar of all places
and mini golf in the yard
oh yeah, and croquet too
beneath the plum trees
and man these czechs can roll
their apeshit for strikes
me, i'm writing postcards
for folks back home
drinking staropramen
at 25 koruna a glass
$1.53 canadian
cheaper than prague
then again
so are the women
except for small town andrea
who keeps 'em coming
she's a diamond
in this rough bowling capital of the world
we can't understand each other
but as we make absinthe disappear
we start to make a little more sense

lost in trains

i have no idea what she said
but i like the way it sounded
and i liked the way she laughed
so i decided to play along
i told her i'd like to fuck her brains out
and then she giggled
and all her friends giggled too
i thought it pretty funny myself
i have no idea what she said
but i had every intention
of keeping my promise
and i almost did

europe, you're down; you're incompatible

i can't understand it
we fill their hotels
and their hostels
by the millions
you'd think by now
they'd provide us with adapters
so that we could share in their electricity

levi strauss & co.rnea

he slips into a pair
of her faded denim eyes
and she bats her big lashes
as the teeth of her
retina zipper come together
he tends to keep his hands
in her back pocket corneas
when he leans on his locker
to watch the pretty girls pass
a thousand washes
have left the frayed curvature
of her van gogh'd irisies
worn and perfectly distressed
she's his favourite pair
they're such a perfect fit

revlon

if you took each and every stroke
of the eyeliner that she's applied
and made it into a straight line
it would run from here to delaware
and i'd follow each step to the end
and when i finally got there
i would screw the brush
back into the bottle
and i'd patiently wait to collect
another decade of perfect application
until i could someday pave the way
back to chesapeake bay

heavy iron rails

we were on a train in the 1950's
i unzipped your skirt and watched it fall
you had on white stockings and garter belt
they stayed in place the entire time
there was a woman in our sleeper car
who watched us without speaking
your breasts pressed against the window
as i took you from behind
a glorious sheen of wet
met with your inner thighs
as the counrty side rolled past us
and we both moved together
in a rapturously, deadly rhythm
my hands were between your legs
and as i thrust, they lifted you
up off the ground ever so slightly
your toes wiggling
and reaching for footing
with each jolt
you turned your head
so that our tongues could reach
i traced the outline of your figure
along the cool window pane
we grew louder in our excitement
moonlight bouncing off our limbs
my tongue in your mouth
together we came in thunderous succession
we stood there for several minutes together
your feet still slightly suspended
above the train floor
i was still and hard inside of you
pulsating with the fill of our lungs
our tongues slowly rolling over each others
when we finally sat back down
the three of us lit a cigarette
and still no one spoke a word
you placed your head in my lap and sighed
the stranger lady tipped the brim of her big city hat
and went back to her book as we slowed
we giggled and fought for breath
the conductor called out "all aboard"
we were well on our way

traditional saudi ghutra

i am alone in a desert
on all fours
searching for an internet connection
passing by a bearded camel
then wiping its spit from my cheek with a dirty sleeve
wishing the mirage of her in a blue pool would quit it already
checking the time on a broken watch
burying a perfectly good apple
pouring out the last of my water
and filling the canteen with sand
i plugged into a lonely cactus
and googled the word "fucked"

it happened behind a shower curtain

she asked me to draw a bath
i told her i didn't much like them
she said it would be fun
and that we could shower tomorrow
if i sat in the bath with her today
so i turned the taps and let the water run
the pretty ones always get their way
i opened thirty or so little umbrellas
the kind meant for drinks
upside down i sailed them on the suface
and placed a raspberry in each one
she liked that
and i asked her if we could have a bath again tomorrow

no sir, away! a papaya war is on

sitting in my room
writing poetry
listening to the fan chat about the humidity
collecting tears in the floorboard basin
thinking dirty thoughts
typing palindromes
on my great grandfather's remington
"won't lovers revolt now?"
cut the page in half
fold it twice
mail it to her later
start a new page
say the word sculpt out loud
over and over
until it doesn't sound right
light a cigarette and suck
"i roamed under it as a tired, nude maori"
amazing
think of the shark on her foot
open the window all the way
flip through pornographic memories
sitting in my room
writing poetry

scrap metal autograghs

i'm scratching my head again
as i twirl a pencil in my mitts
like a freight train on a twisted track
coasting to its wreck
somewhere west of tennessee
perhaps in tulsa
by a ravine
come to think of it
i scratch my head a lot these days
like a symphony gone terribly wrong
all bells and whistles in fancy disarray
no strings anywhere
just an old woman playing a park bench
at dawn
signing scrap metal autographs
knee-deep in geraniums

hemingway was onto something

i'm leaving now for the fox & the are you fucking kidding me, of all the places in toronto fiddle

stupid is

ok
so i have to go meet some stupid girl
in some stupid bar
for all of three stupid minutes
before i decide that i made a stupid decision
spending two dollars and seventy-five stupid cents
to come to that conclusion

clumsy little wrenches

i wear it like fog
this shroud of madness
this veil of blanketing sad
gears stalled in my eternal clock
screeching to a halt with a deafening grind
i picture the little elves and their clumsy little wrenches
powered by white pharmacy coats (the management)
working away to align neurotransmitters
and cluster fuck signals stopped at a red light
tiny little subways bringing in the next shift
of tiny little fixer-uppers
to fix me up
just enough
the overtime must have retired taxpayers falling out their chairs

calling magnolia valley

i read david ryan's suicide handbook
swimming in a bathtub of wild flowers
so perfect and true and soft
told her to tell it to my heart someday
lonely girl, she wants to play hearts with this rag doll boy with broken eyes
and we'll make pretenders of them yet if it kills us
rolling famous eyes in jacksonville buses kissing the white line with spinning tires
touch, feel, and lose your limbs down a drainpipe
let's get all unpredictable like a firecracker
la cienga just smiles and it's on with the jeans, the jacket, and shirt
we'll stop at nothing for no one (long and sad goodbye)
dear chigaco, passed you by a couple of moons ago and lit a cigarette
swallow applause and bow to sad lady (mara lisa)
it's on to off broadway for tired acts who've lost their shiny instruments
she fumbled her footing in the cracks of a photograph
seated on a dirty curb, i'm waiting for a stranger's brokenhearted taxicab in the night
play me that familiar old tune and i'll cry on demand
my miss sunflower reaching for the painted yellow sky all the time
don't get all bent out of shape lonely delaware, 'cause we're just saying hi
spreading my california love to the colder parts
all the idiots rule the world
you don't know me like this record does

slow and steady

are those coattails under your feet?
no thanks,
i think i'll just walk.

adjectives

i took my pen
and covered you in words
like a sprawling canvas of silk
i wrote "insatiable"
on the small of your back
and you giggled and squirmed under the ink
i wrote "endearing" on your eyelid
and you begged to know
what you could feel but could not see
"perfect" rounded out the curve of your clavicle
i kissed each and every perfect little letter
then i wrote "mine" a few times
behind each of your thighs
in neat and tiny cursive
i penned "alarming" between two ribs
you jumped suddenly and and we both laughed
and together we smeared some of it
i wrote it again for good measure
but this time with less pressure
i fashioned "celestial" behind your ear
read it aloud in a terrible accent as i spelled it
you corrected me on the pronunciation
but i didn't mind, i loved the way you said it
i asked if you would say it again to me
and you rolled your tongue so perfectly
we fucked until the words were formatted
i thought of how i could never return to a typewriter
so we showered and started again
i took my pen
and covered you in words
like a sprawling canvas of silk
i wrote "insatiable"

one way street

what i want most
is someone who will stick
someone who will recognize a sincere apology
when she hears it
and at least considers it
someone who will offer up her own i'm sorry's
when it's her that slips
because falls are inevitable
and even if formalities prove to be too great
and the status of our relationship should change
what i want most
is someone who's only ever a long distance dial away
because what we both want most
is someone who will stick
no matter what
even if it's not a perfect fit

toby had a tv for a head

toby had a tv for a head
and a rusted spring for a neck
but he didn't let it get him down
he rode his purple bike all over town
in the morning, his dad would tune into the news
at lunchtime, his friends watched cartoons
in the evening, if there was a surge of snowy static
grandma would smack him and cry out "dammit!!!"
but when all their viewing needs were satisfied
he'd hop on his bike and ride and ride and ride

imbalance

here comes a familiar sadness
pushing its way past the prozac

she bought me a zoobombs t-shirt

love is a moment of sheer terror
when you've lost her in the crowd
and your heart skips a beat
and your head is but a well-oiled swivel
begging to find a flash of her bare shoulder
one that could belong to no other
a lonely, dizzying moment at the comfort zone
everything frighteningly magnified under black light
sticky floors swallowing each step in luminescent molasses debris
gentlemen reg takes the stage
and the crowd swells in a furious tangle
you wonder if she's eying the room in desperation for your messy electric hair
fluttering chords slam your ribs as the walls roll and tilt and sway
for a minute there, you lost yourself
when you lost her in that crowd
and right then, as both of your highs reach the ocean sky
and the sea parts for a tiny instant
you spot her there
between the blurring heads
her eyes already fixed on you
she is a beautifully sound structure
and you race to each other like magnetic bees
only better
and you say, "i love you" and smile
and she says she loves you and smiles
and you hold each others eyes
for this is the first time either of you have said it
and you both know that both of you mean it
and both of you feel it
and you know that love is a moment of sheer panic
because you know now that you can never live without it

scattered

i broke the glass
and took you out of the picture frame
kissed your one-dimensional lips
and sucked you in
took my lighter to the hem of your dress
i watched as you whispered and
burnt my fingertips
and wondered what you said
from a one-dimensional ledge
i spilled you on the floor
and rolled all over you
whiskey in my belly
ashes in my hair
we slept right there through the night
and i brushed you off in the morning
i guess the wind picked you up
and took you away somewhere

an ode to the joy of the charge

o where art thou fair visa?
its digits ring like the finest harps in france
when rolled off the tongue
of the lady on the telephone
as she traces the lines
of the raised lettering
like the gentle touch
of a mother lion's caress
o where art thou fair visa?
its date of expiration floating in the distant future
its curvy limbs of a signature
sprawling in every which direction
contained to a designated rectangle of white
oh where art thou fair visa?
without your divine electronic entry
my pockets are merely a sanctuary for dust
and lest we forget - lint too
yes, these pockets are merely a sanctuary for the dust and the lint
without your divine electronic consent

above the road

today, my friends and i went shopping
well, they went shopping
i quietly slipped away
down a glorious alley
and climbed the fire escape at massey hall
to read a kerouac classic
sipping yonge street coffee
subscribing to outsiderdom
the sun kept me warm
and the words kept me high

oh well

deadly tresses of golden curls
we've mutilated sincerity
jammed it's head on a stick
on the lawn for all to see
like a flag flown in victorious bits of history
we'll stuff the legs in the neighbour's mailbox
can't wait to see the look on the old guy's face
expecting the sunday paper and a telephone bill

martina

there's a crack in my guitar
it's all that i have left of her
and now it's going too

don't tell the landlord

i woke up on the wrong side of the bed
so i dragged it to the other side of the room
that was the wrong side too
so i dragged it into the middle
and hopped over the headboard
that was also the wrong way to start the day
all that was left was the foot of the bed
i'll let you know in the morning how it went

simply michael to some

nothing
absolutely nothing
makes me feel better
than when my father
refers to me as "son"

i've never been able to explain it
but it's the most honest thing
i could ever write

i've never shared that with him
and i never will

that's what makes it so special
he doesn't realize the impact

therefore
his motivation is always pure

letting go

i'd love to see her
just one last time
even for just a minute
just to say goodbye
to wish her well
to say i'm sorry again
to tell her how much she means to me
to take in one last memory
just to keep the wound open
before she moves overseas
a heart across a pond
sadly i didn't make the cut
for the going away invitations
it's ok
it's her day

surprise!

how do you write a poem
about the perfect girl?
sometimes words just won't do
sometimes you're better off
just sending her your ear in a box
it makes perfect sense to me
and it did to at least one other

flat tire at high noon

in a seedy bar
in a seedy city
with a seedy group
seated in a seedy booth
seeds are planted and take root
somewhere
in a seedy church
in a seedy town
with a seedy congregation
seated in the seediest of seedy pews
an entire generation swells to the size of michigan

bawdy language

i saw her in a bakery
she saw i was a forgery
"baby will you bake for me?"
she hawed and wouldn't wait for me
i caught her on the corner
candy lemon hosiery
waking up
is the moral of the story, see

pipe dreams

i lost a dream
down the sink
it slipped off my finger
so i listened to the cure
and cried myself to sleep
so that i could find
a tighter-fitting one

kindergarten changed my life forever

it's taken me all damn day
to think of the name of the girl
on the receiving end
of my very first kiss
her name was taylor
it was her first kiss too
i was at her house for a play date
we kissed in her closet
she had long blond hair
she was very beautiful
we kissed twice
we didn't even giggle
the world had definitely turned for me
i wonder where she is today
still breaking hearts i'd imagine
once we kissed in the classroom's playhouse
i gave my pal a joe louis to stand guard
come to think of it
those were some pretty good kisses
considering we were only in kindergarten

the pre-dawn dance of the hippocamus (genus)

i wish i were a seahorse
they're mostly monogamous, you know
they form pair bonds
that's kinda like marriage but sweeter
they even hold each others tails while courting
the only problem with being a seahorse
is that the male is the one who becomes pregnant
i'm not so sure that i want to be a seahorse anymore

john william

gabriella's got a wall
the likes of which
the world hasn't seen since
germany was the sum of two parts

jane's got a guy with
double consonants
in his name
i liked her better in our tent
with t's on polar opposites

christina and i shared
a gaza strip loft
it's not easy to be a palestinian
when she's off having lunch
with the fucking united states of america

if you're in the east
than i'm in the west
when you're in the tent
i'm on the outside of a stuck zipper
if you're in our loft
than his shit is on my bedside table

the use of vos instead of the far more common tú as the second-person familiar subjective pronoun

when i was little
a new girl came to our school
she rode the yellow school bus
all the way from argentina
our stupid teacher introduced her as jenny
it was love at first sight
or something like it
she spoke in lovely spanish tones
the stupid teacher asked for a volunteer
someone needed to help jenny read in english
it was the first and last time
i ever volunteered for anything at school
she must have been so overwhelmed
but you'd never have guessed it
from that smile forever burned into my memory
i'd never met an argentinian princess before that day
sometimes when i'm laying in the grass
i still think about her
getting off that big yellow school bus

and for my nineteenth birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat

i'd like to hitch a ride
to delaware
for no other reason
than to just go
get away from all this normal
maybe the friendly driver
would play old springsteen cassettes
i'd like the sound at the beginning of each side
we'd smoke cigarettes
one after the other
and trade names
i'd tell her that i play the guitar
she'd tell me that she arranges flowers
maybe we'd be silent for parts of the trip
she'd tap the steering wheel
i'd gaze out the window at the cows
in a lonely fuck pasture
counting tombstones as they pass
perhaps our hands might touch
when we'd both go to flip the tape
at the same time
maybe we'd consider a kiss
she'd blush slightly and maybe i wouldn't
who could tell anymore?
there'd be an annoyingly dull pain in my arm
surely a heart attack
would that be a vulture in the distance?
soaring through heat lines
she'd clear her throat
more than a few times
i'd hate that
i should have worn sunglasses
i'd think to myself
she'd point to the glove box
i'd open it and she'd gesture
with a finger
to the pill bottles
it'd be a small town pharmacy in there
naturally i'd assume the choice was mine
maybe i'd settle on oxycontin
she'd take two of the five tapped into my palm
and wash them down with snapple
i'd gulp mine dry and take two more
when in rome, right?

national gee oh graphic

when a male lion
grows the balls to challenge
the protector of a rivalry pride
and wins
he kills the young of the deceased
to trigger the widow's heat

we just fuck the neighbour
and file for divorce

nature likes variety
i suppose

another six lines sink into obscurity

vanessa's in her underwear
taking a picture
so i can see too
thank god for technology
and underwear
and vanessa too

i'm on the do not call list

when you make your living
as a telemarketer
you hear the words "last call"
twice in a single day

catch her in the rye

pretty you, full of sin
bleed out & tourniquet
soft shards of porcelain
spill of of dead cells that you wear
when you go to bed
warm hearts & severed wrists
soft lips that guide your kiss
eyes hung in consequence
these are the last breaths that you get
while you second guess
elbows & clavicles
dressed in white chemicals
cast tongues in fairy tales that you've feared
since you were a kid
elbows & clavicles
miracles inside of us
cast tongues in chemistry sets that set your heart on fire

pretty you, full of holes
nearly invisible
oceans of eyeliner
spill out of dead eyes that you wear
when you look ahead
warm hearts & severed wrists
soft suicidal bliss
limbs slung in consequence
these are the last words you force out
from inside a kiss
elbows & clavicles
dressed in white chemicals
cast tongues in fairy tales that you've feared
since you were a kid
elbows & clavicles
miracles inside of us
cast tongues in chemistry sets that set your heart on fire

sound advice sounding slurred

make the most
of the tank
they store you in
when you're too drunk
to mingle
with the respectable

they took away my shoelaces

begonias aren't wildflowers, silly

she'll be on a bus in the morning
and that makes going to sleep
alone tonight
not all that terrible
despite our rough edges
we just sort of fit
not in any traditional sense
but in our own way
we've found a place
that feels almost right
beside her in bed
i think i'll kiss the ink
set in her perfect skin
and sleep will find us
tangled and content

the jackson fifty

i'm always searching for
that perfect word
pretending that i'm a writer
drumming away on keys
and dreaming of samantha
somewhere in spain

it's just another lazy saturday
i sit here on my bed
gazing out the window
listening to the birds
and the emergency vehicles
still half asleep
hung over and dehydrated
sickened by the sins
of last night's doing

all i can smell is gin and sex
and stale cigarettes

there are books scattered across the comforter
and records tiling the floorboards
like grandma's forgotten family quilt
i settle the needle on do re me a b c 1 2 3
michael jackson died only yesterday

and so did a piece of my childhood

i've certainly got all the necessary elements
to write
the heartbreak, the mental instability
the gin, the sex and the stale cigarettes

even the rolled-up fifty
that doesn't belong to me
on a snowy mirror
that i dare not look into
until at least noon

part of me is pulling the other part
towards a park
or an ice cream parlor
or wherever else normal people go
on a sunny saturday
their socks stuffed into birkenstocks
their imported lagers peeking up over the ice

at least i know who i am not
it's not yet noon
so i close my eyes
to do another line

the park will still be there tomorrow

love is a writer from hell

august sixteenth nineteen hundred and twenty
until march ninth nineteen hundred and ninety four
thank you for all of your words
and for all of your dirty realism
you sick bastard

never buy mushrooms from a bum on east hastings

i'd rather be at jericho beach
where the pacific ocean is made of oil paint

loathe on the bright side

look on the bright side
tomorrow's a brand new day
ugh

i just can't wait to see my name in the credits

if you were on the tv
you'd be the blonde in the bad b movie
the one inching backwards
tipped-off by the creek in the floorboard
sounded from the other side of the door
the murmur of the villain's heavy foot
that would be me, the villain
the one with the heavy foot
you'd be the blonde inching backwards
the guy who scored the music for our bad b film
he'd put a crescendo in this scene, right about now
the bowing of strings so furiously taut
it'd cause the hairs on the backs
of the necks
of the audience, to jumping jack
thighs would be clutched and hands would be held
you'd be the blonde inching backwards
i'd be the clamor of foot to floor
come out come out wherever you are
you'd be that stupid blonde inching backwards
the one who reaches for the conveniently-placed
knife, atop a dresser
you'd be the boob jobbed blonde running out of inches
i'd be the slow turn of the door knob

all i see is green and blue and blue and green is all i see

"i can never seem to mix the
right chord with the perfect word,"
i tell my girlfriend. she laughs
and tells me i'm right.
girlfriends are good for keeping
feet on the ground.

the path we're on is a windy
one.
each step is a gallon of stubborn
every lunge is a million mile.
as a child i dreamed of running through
a cornfield that never ends.
i'm not as tall as the shortest
stalk.
the beaten circular path will be televised
tomorrow.
it'll be a scientist fuck frenzy.

how does one disappear in a cloud that's
stopped on a dime?
with the light of day as my guardian,
the silk in the reeds is all we've ever
really known,
now isn't it?

"i can never seem to mix the right wrong
with the perfect ex girlfriend," i tell my father.
he laughs and says none of us ever can, son.
father's are good for keeping
feet slightly off the ground

crop circles aren't so curious. they are really
just the beaten path of lost little boys
who aren't as tall as the shortest stalks
above their lost little heads.

i listed "storm" on my band's rider

val kilmer as jim morrison
plus what's her face
equals a blood fetish for me

a little glue goes a long way

taking your guitar into the shop for repair
and handing it over to the technician
is kind of like going to the dentist
when you haven't been flossing
you just know that you're gonna get
called on neglect

silly little cunt, i love you so much

this bed is unfit for sleep
it could give way at any moment
so i called in a termite specialist
he said we were infestation-free
???
he said that those were just notches
i didn't get it at the time
so i just shrugged
and rented season 3 of dawson's creek on vhs

charlotte thomas bespoke

i can never sleep
something always gets in the way
thoughts race more frenetically
in total blackness on this sleepyhemisphere
like jack hammer grasshopper colonies
a million cutting room floor trophies
strewn with guilt and piled to the ceiling's mouth
no blinds ever hang from this city's sill
no princess ever calls out from the tower
bloor st. is a fierce statement of foot steps
and alcohol breath
pounding the pavement's cracked momentum
in search of bed stands
to rest a watch
or a cellphone on silent
for one night
and one night only
this is so much greater than mother insomnia's eye clamps
so much stronger than aubergine ambien clouds
i watch the numbers roll over
at least they're consistent
i need a girl
i need another heartbeat
to soften my anxiety
to get lost with me
under miles of sheets
made of the finest merino wool
backed with thousand-count egyptian cotton
threaded with 22 carat gold
doesn't that sound sweet?
i'm so sick of counting sheep

this song will not write itself, young man. do you hear me? just wait until your father gets home

these words
don't forge
you and me
i'm
tired
expired
i've deleted
sleep
windows
bleed
with rain
and i
watch
them streak
warm hands
won't thaw
the spring
inside of me

i am
cocaine
and bottles
filled
to the brim
poison
contained
but watch
me
wash
over
him
it's right
don't fuss
just let us
do what we
must
young man
fly
high
across the
universe

chuck's line the hallway

click

we are a consequence. our bad ideas brainstorm.
dire mechanisms
twist and turn, give up

the fairy tale mob
born of other's dreams.
lost on perfection.

deliver me, hungry ego,
blasted rats.
fill my lungs with church smells.

stagnant shortcomings
with pews of dirt soaked wine.
everybody stitch a new skin together

massive sorrow
automatic in being,
geared for getting going on downs

and whales were never part of us.
a result
pliers, fucking.

somewhere it shines.
bitter fellow angioplasty
tucked into a bright satellite conglomerate

o follow in the swell.
greedy regrets that stick
served under fluorescence's glow

and somewhere,
a pair is being pardoned
the cliche uncupping of the hands as the bird rockets fourth

our home,
stuck in the mote
met with ammonia glances

it's you, diana
the typewriter keys
get stuck in your rib cage

atlas shrugged and spun that globe around (a poem for april) set to atlas sound

i want to map your coordinates
every square inch
just a little bit
give me the most you can possibly give
from another timezone, that is
you spun that globe around and put your eyes to rest
my name is michael, what's yours?
let's get naked and second guess it tomorrow
over coffee perhaps
maybe even pancakes
with a side of new lover pheromones
and please hurry with the bill
we've got provinces to discover
your cheeks are very warm
and red
and i like that
and i have a poem to write
one for april's eyes only
i spun that globe around and my index finger landed on on you
lucky me
get on a plane and kiss me for breakfast
or something like that
lucky us
we spun that globe around and settled on a seedy east coast-kinda-place
the kind where people who already know each other
have never actually met
spin that globe and give me in the flesh
flash.
give me attitude
flash.
give me substance
flash. flash. flash.
give me everything
and give it twice
get on a plane and give me april skies in may
give me the most you can possibly give
from a different timezone
then give it to me again
damn geo locals and lack of airmiles
i'd rather have a facefullofyou
at least a couple of times
spin that globe and give me in the flesh
you better be on the phone with the airplane receptionist
or else

we make great strangers, don't we?

i saw my ex-girlfriend at lee's palace

i saw my ex-girlfriend at lee's palace
it wasn't a pretty sight
not her, of course
me, i mean
she rendered the entire lighting rig irrelevant
of course she did
go and introduce yourself to her new boyfriend
i told myself
be polite and charismatic
and confident
order something sophisticated maybe
you can do this
i told myself
the next thing i remember
is running away
thank god i live across the street
it wasn't a pretty scene
not the band, of course
they were pretty good
me, i mean
fuck me, only a sick god would create an english accent

to be here is a departure for us

i found you in a broken social scene song
we were swallowing words while giving head
three years later, i lost you in the second chorus
i pulled the plug out of the socket
but the damn song refuses to quit
at least the sun is shining
that's something, right?

thirty-three and one third times around

old beaten lp's
filed away in crates
each collect their share of available dust
and i flip their posture forward
to see who rests behind
alternating two fingers
like an insect's antennae sensing something
looking for that big score
tasting the forensically certified fingerprints
of so many of those who tickled their sleeves before me
these records get better with age
i don't mean their sound quality or playability
nor do i mean their ability to fetch a more impressive sum
i'm mostly referring to their smell
from one collector to the next
i just can't get enough of that old beaten lp scent

sea urchins & insatiabilty clauses

lonely flesh vessels
full of arteries and nerves
in search of other ships
to share the barren coast
we hate to be alone
we've read the tales of woe
we've read too many fairly tales
that's why we're so alone
and that's where the issue gets ugly

lonely flesh vessels
full of tendons and organs
in search of other ships
to anchor down with
we hate to be alone
we're partner bound and prone
to trying on other ocean liners
until we we find a fit, we're just another loan
and that's where the issue gets desperate

lonely flesh vessels
full of blood and guts
in search of other ships
to cull the search we lust
we hate to be alone
what's ours is not our own
just when you think you found it, you found out you were wrong
and that's when the issue sinks to the bottom

parting is such

when she says it's over
it never really sinks in
it's been said before
it's just more idle threats
she leaves
then i leave
sometimes we leave together
the sobering cool of morning
has always aligned our paths again
until now
she said she was leaving
and then she left
it never really sinks in
but i haven't seen her since

magazines in a waiting room

for two whole years
the hearing in my left ear was off.
i tried my best to ignore it
but i'm left-handed
and i made my money on the phone.
for two whole years
i knew something was wrong.
i thought for sure
that a decade of my amp's static crackle
pop radio waves in foreign tongues
had rendered me close to deaf.
"it's like there's a sea shell to my ear,"
i told the doctor.
"all damn day long," i said.
he said he had just the thing.
he called to the nurse for some sort of thingamabob
he spoke mostly doctor that day
they mostly do, don't they?

sun tanning on chippy's

don't forget your keys
the back door locks automatically
wear the gayest shorts you can find
black with white trim, short as fuck

that sun is blistering
grab your things
those thighs are blinding
cell phone: check
bottled water: check
cigarettes: check

climb the rickety, paint-chipped metal staircase
with your yellow bucketful of belongings
lighter: check
journal: check
spf-not-the-fuck-enough tanning oil: check

climb the ladder to to the top tier
get as close to heaven as possible
rooftop patio now open for summer
oh yeah, remember the adjacent rooftop is full of people
fight the urge to run away

fan your towel out
and let the breeze decide where you will settle
pen: check
spf-not-nearly-the-fuck-enough tanning oil: check
coke machine glow by gordon downie: check
yes, that gord downie
check

rooftop patio now open for for all kinds of consumption
convince yourself that pauper's patrons across the way
are all laughing at you
assume they are saying,
"ew, he's deformed and out on display."
smile back at them
they can't see your vulnerability behind the cheap shades
purchased at h&m with money you didn't have
and will never get back again

rooftop patio now open for flesh sightseers with ceasars
embarrassment: check
anxiety: check
spf-product-enhances-deformity tanning oil: check

spot the girl in the window
hope she has a fetish
wish she's going to tell friends,
"i saw the hottest, deformed guy today across the way"
imagination: check
thinkagain: check
spf-you've had-enough-of-this-shit tanning oil: sigh

don't forget your keys
the back door locks automatically
rooftop patio now open for regrets
check, please

failure veils

there are those of us who fail
and almost instinctively
hide behind a veil.
then again,
there are those of us who stopped trying years ago.
i'm not sure which group to attach
"ignorance is bliss," to.

perpendicular go the cutworms and the telecasters

the setting is a playground
the sun is a'setting
two children teeter on a seesaw
one goes up
one comes down
when we were kids
we called it a teeter-totter
one comes down
one goes up
it seemed more balanced back then
she saw, he saw
seesaw
i'm still on a teeter-totter of some sort
i think that maybe we all are
only now i go higher than most
and coming down still gives me butterflies
but now those butterflies, they have big scary teeth
and it's not nearly as fun
and there's no one to occupy the other side
most of the time

lover lost her head

lover lost her head
they found it in his bed
lover lost her menace
they searched for it in venice
lover lost her name
they shouted it in vain
lover lost her touch
they'd never searched so much
lover lost her will
they found it on the hill
lover lost her singing voice
they said it was a sullen noise
lover lost her way
they found it back in may
lover lost her nerve
they blamed it on the verve
lover lost her symphony
all that's left is timpani
lover lost her toes
they found them lined in rows
lover lost her lover
he never will recover
lover lost her hun
'cause her lover's on the run!

belles and whistles

i smile
i try
not really
i lie
these are the smiles we wear in reverse
i drink
i black
i fuck
i forget
these are the limbs that we wear on loan
i loathe
i haste
i cut
i paste
i try to remember anything
god, anything at all
these are the lessons i never ever seem to learn

we will never swallow london whole

dear ian kevin,
the lights on the stages
that i stood on
but never really graced
never commanded
that my arms flail about
but the sorrow in my own heart
certainly
made me
flop

i've found my own ways to convulse

be it to the maddened rhythm
hook
line
and
sink
her
it tore us to pieces
didn't it?

dreary and dire
and poetic
are the mishaps
and the shapes that are born of buzz saw strobes
danced and outmaneuvered
mysteried
and admired
we'll never swallow london whole

it tore us to shreds
didn't it?

warsaw colour wheel
post-rock
rolandic trauma
and the shapes that are born of buzz saw strobes

we'll never walk on that water now
it tore us a new one
didn't it?

i've found my own charming ligatures

and so
another new man fades