Tuesday, May 11, 2010

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


Saturday, May 8, 2010

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

Monday, May 3, 2010

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

Monday, March 22, 2010

ativan

i'm staring the bottle down
like we might just have a go at it
30 of them and just one of me
one refill for a rainy day
another one only a doctors office away
2mg of calm vs 160 lbs of raw anxiousness
i pour the bottles contents onto a record sleeve
i spell out the word choice in pills
tiny little white oval ones with open arms
whispering sweet nothings
i read the label - take 1 when needed
seems a little vague
i'm building up a tolerance to you
i'm already dependent upon you
i wonder if the withdrawal
could feel any worse than this does
you ease my hopelessness
but you steal so much of my memory
damned if i do and damned if i don't
i sigh and wash you down with water
i'll tap foot to floor until you release
into my bloodstream
let's relax for the time being
we were made
to abuse each other