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fitting that it should start raining
just as we begin to stop fitting

spitting off tall buildings

didn't mean much of what was said
it was mostly just the mdma talking
oh, and the vodka added a mouthful or two
my mouth merely served as their microphone
someone really should have pulled the plug on us
we're not looking forward to reading the review

a soft spoken landslide

i'm not sure why
but i dialed your number
yesterday
no longer out of habit
more so out of cat-killing curiosity
it rang
i panicked
i told myself
hang up
hang up goddamnit
but the curiosity froze me
mesmerized by the ringing
and the not knowing
i sat and listened
i never did know
your new number
overseas
but i know at one point
you're here number
forwarded to your there number
it's all just bank magic to me
but surely with so much time elapsed
the bank isn't still redirecting me
but who knows
your bank does have all kinds of money
and big bank gadgetry
it is ringing after all
i pictured you
digging through your over-stuffed purse
in search of the source of the ring-ringing
at first, i had expected some recorded female
to offer me an apology
explaining that the line had been disconnected
then there was a click
phew
going to voicemail thankfully
i wouldn't have known what to say had it been you
had you said hello from so far away
but no
it was just a different female recorded apology
only this one explained to me
that the proud new owner of your phone number
hasn't gotten around to activating their voicemail yet
i'm sure it was for the best

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