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