your mayor is raising fences to keep bodies off the don valley parkway

don't want
new friends
they just
become old ones
all too fast

got errands
to run

got
an erection
to calm

and anxiety
to dismantle
and this is just
waking up

criminally
predictable
this man
is
pigeon girls got no religion
at least
that's what
he always says

i'm afraid
to see
through sober
eyes
don't tell mother
my head's
barely attached
a thread
hanger-on

terrified
to consider
what lies
round the bend
more and more
buttons to button
only just to be
unbuttoned again

bludgeoned
by all my yesterdays
bleeding into one last sunset
and then another
and then another
and another
more and more
buttons to button
only just to be
unbuttoned
again

shooting myself out of a cannon

i'm coming apart

bursting at the seams

feeling the tension

knotting and sucking

and writhing and tangling

and squeezing

the air

out

of my black lungs

screaming in my head

in dizzying keys

i have things to say

skeletons to face

to let out

to spill to the floor

because there's so little room

left

to suppress

any more of it

one man can only take so much

bursting at the seams

desperately wanting to shoot myself out of a cannon

a brawler & a poet

so i'm in the local cheque-cashing joint

the line is long or so it seems

there are two drunk natives at the window

slurring expletives to the girl behind the partition

a man in a nice looking suit is ahead of me

i suppose he's the oddball here today

an old chinese lady sits on a bench to my left

behind me walks in an older gentleman

dressed in nice enough clothes that have seen better days

he comes so close to me that i begin to feel antsy

i can feel his warm sherry breath on the back of my neck

finally unable to bear it any longer

i turn my head and say hello and smile

a response does not appear to be on its way

his eyes are crazy

his right arm is upright

so that his hand is parallel with his jaw

his entire hand is bandaged

wrapped so many times that its size is monstrous

"hello," he finally says, "my name is michael"

i tell him that mine is as well and nice to meet you

how are you today, i ask him

"not bad," he says, "for a guy who's just had a finger amputated"

my eyes raise up in that stupid fashion

that signifies shock and concern

there is indeed a digit missing

"doin' a helluva lot better than the other four guys," he chuckles

"they're no longer walking god's green earth"

i force an awkward laugh

even thinking to myself - wow, that sounded so fake

"michael huh," he repeats, "know what it means?

no, i shrug

"means the hammer of god, michael does.

would you like to hear a poem about it?"

i smile and say that i would

he proceeds to deliver a beautiful piece of writing

in a most grand and jovial manner

all about michael - the hammer of god

i was touched, i really was

all i could think was that i wished she had been here with me

to witness this scene and all its irony

here's these two almost-strangers in a queue

both of us a brawler and a poet

adamo

when i close my eyes
and think about your bed
i think of morning
i think of movie light
i think of purring
i think of us
entwined
when i close my eyes
and think about your bed
i take a break from hating
the thought of waking up
and that means the world to me

chicago scored perhaps i can too

you are one room away

down a creaky hall

past the giant tv

hang a left before the bathroom

where the record is playing

sweetest kill or something

you're bettering yourself

from my bed

i'll be better myself

when i climb in too

next to you

my love

the bestest part of my day

only twelve steps away

starts with a k

self medication

my body is my temple

no - that's a lie

it's more of a receptacle

for hazardous material

all pokey and stabby-like

tonight i'm pouring

down my throat

better than up my nose

i suppose

this poem includes a free digital download

he's got skinny tie daydreams
rolled up in silk oriental shrugs
with bangin' rock pistols slung on his hips
hair too long for mother's liking
lighting matches on his cowboy boot spurs
down on his luck and up on his meds
middle fingers splayed across the pages
in the journal he won't admit to keeping
kicked to curb joints dis location
firing on all fours cylinders
wide awake on ethereal club downers
breaching someones probation somewhere
he's singing fuck you falsettos all the way to the bank

ghost vocals

ghost vocals
warmed against
chords unwound
dragged-feet
delay
underneath
music sheet cities
harmonies
repeat and repeat
despairing female
screams
under sheets
backwards repetition
spewing fourth
at sixty-seven beats
per minute
all in a day's work

cylinder rust hour

i reach
out and up
sun above
warm with love
hollowed hearts
underwater
city sirens
watermarks
warm to touch
sad to smile
sewn in thread
on bursting seams
pretty dirty colour
tired feet proceed
beautiful horror
touching itself
waiting for summer
leaping frog
together
blowing horns
sun above
warm with lust

hatchback satellites

this is a bus we ride
down the queen's highway
a comet of strangers
arranged
in neat rows lined in twos
violins in my ears
my overhead light
a fixture of heaven
eyes ajar
blue doctor hands
coming in and out of focus
lumber loads waving bye
hopped up on medical light
weakknees armrest
lift this bar for emergency exit
weak
knees
arm
rest
push window open
pushing ink to page
ink-filled sky blacker than october's ebony plight
spinning tires
touching
yellow wires
faulty lines
hatchback satellites
help me tonight
i need more miles
more and more miles
passing underneath
someone must kill the driver
if he touches the brakes
'cause we need more miles
passing beneath

deleted scenes

dead romantic
tips the stem
of
his glass
towards the sky
with silly
drunken wine
smile
hung out like clothes
drying
on a chiseled jaw
dreamy electric breeze
blowing
with new music
in his ears
about to be
released
tomorrow
and her on her bed
dead to the world
perfectly sewn
soft as pussy willow thread
soft as cottoncloud stratus
lite bright lamp woes
first song crescendos
rosedale sirens and fans
humming sleepy hymns
her awaiting him
with nakedness
always perfectly lit
like a film crew
had already perfected it
this shot
is his one shot
to maybe not
die
alone
like others
like parisian morrison
we forgot
hearts across
a pond
it in people
he's still your fag
he's still forgiving
she's worth surviving
another morning
actually
he can't wait to wake up
not surprising
it's
the way the light hits her