Pints

There's a silent flowing stream
An inverted, internalized scream
Glass shards are hypnotic reminders
of the blood that flows inside my veins
And I overwhelmingly, achingly want you
Yet this sober restraint calls me to clarity
What can be will never be,
Fruition lies,
unrealized.

Oh, to be dissatisfied, disillusioned and impoverished
The wounded, lonely heart
beats just as well as the nourished one
Just as regularly
And yet,
I cannot fathom this canyon that lies between us
As anything less than impregnable.
The clouds refuse to part,
the dew begets the drop,
Micro-chasm of life

And all the while, I pine for you,
The half that is quartered,
the life that is shortened
the music that is silent
unguarded smiles,
soften memories of your undying skin
and an unwavering sigh of frustration

All these lead me closer,
and the closer, further away,
From and to
YOU.

Remembering

The death of the explorer was kept from his mountains,
No field, no stream, no rock responded
No outcry of anger, no avalanche of tears, no tear-stained mourning
The molten lava sunset slowly curled its way between the blackened trees of the sky
A new leaf softy grew

Some strange wind inside me blew,
Desperately trying
to force a tear from my eye

Oh, earthy things are not moved by absence,
but rather touched by light,
a life of admiration, respect, devotion.
The gentleness of fascination, precision, description.
Rocks lightly covered in dew

The hollow earth inside me fractured,
Desperately trying,
to force my soul to cry

The hollow of a tree
The laughing mid-day sun
The roughness of granite
The shear beauty of remembrance.

For You My Friend.

In the beginning, you began to begin creating me...

Drawing lines across my face
a smile appeared
Lazily caressing my back
and I inhaled
Lips grazed my own
and I felt human,
the warm comfort of being
wrapped in cellophane
the shell of an emotion

Stay away and I dissolve
Come closer and I disintegrate
Only severance will sustain me

(be)for(shawdow)

How does the moon forgive us?
By quieting the starkness of the light
and paling us, in comparison to,
the unparalleled unfathomable inexplicable.
Oh, the sheer hubris of even trying to compare
Opens the abyss of our inadequacies.

(and the kitchen door swings in the breeze)
(and the petal gently floats to the ground)
(and the breathe is thoughtlessly given)
(and the eye is lovingly lowered)
(and the seed is silently growing)
(and the stream is ever flowing)
(and the heart beats only once)
(and the smile is hard earned)
(and the raindrop is created)

How does the moon forgive us?
By casting a silver glow in the night
and paling us, in comparison to,
the unpredictable immeasurable immaterial.
Oh, the sheer hubris of even trying to compare
Creates the underpinnings of yearning.

Openocean

This reckless ship
Runs against the tide
Desperately attempting to reconcile the notion of
Home
And I'm trapped in your soft smile,
gentle touch,
The whirlwind of remembrance.
Stranded, abandoned, mid-ocean,
How do I find a compass that leads anywhere but you?
The constant torment of the wind, sleepless nights,
Just to catch a glimpse of nostalgia.
Floating on the open sea, directionless because the only direction
is away.

And worst of all, you remain on shore, unaware and indifferent.

Past, present, the blur of time as it fades into lapping waves.
(I want to remember, but not to hurt.)
How do I change the sun, the wind, the tides, the earth?
How do I mend the hull, the cabin, the heart?
Solace, eventually, find me, will.

After, Noon

Once we've smoked the smoke-stick
We can travel to the alternate universe
and ride the golden pleasure-craft
until we are both enveloped in flames

Once we've smoked the smoke-stick
We can touch one another
Below the level of consciousness
and transform one another's dreams
until we are both overcome with imagination

Once we've smoked the smoke-stick
We can create a moment
Free of any kind of worldly infraction
and devoid of any God but pleasure
until we are both slaves to one another

I'm Trying To Find You

I gently pull up the barrel
Filled with smiles
from the deep well of my heart
Don't spill anything
(OVER)
The sun is bold yet coquettish
She teases me with her moments of warmth
and then retreats back into herself

I want what I want
And you should know what that is
And you should give it to me

Once I've drunk the last smile-drop
And the sun has me fulfilled
I breath in the brick mortar of the ancient well
Privy to the timelessness of water
Feel the slight scratch of rope on my hands
The tiny drops of blood that cover my palms
The peddles beneath my bare feet
The tiny gasp of wind that uplifts me
The translucent scent of the encroaching evening

I want what I want
and please, forgive me for it.

Morning Stanza

and I'm reminded of your beauty,
and i'm reminded of your grace
and I'm reminded of your ever changing,
always constant, effervescent face.

There Are Good Days and Bad Days and Just Days

The secret's secret
Delves below the milky surface
Into the depths of my inadequacies
Amongst the crumbs of warm chocolate chip cookies
Cat hair covered pillows
and your gentle witticisms
whispered into my ear with a laughing smile
This liver has been split in two
and the growing back
is the most painful part
I begin to look inside
because I can't make it heal faster
I want to know, but it disgusts me
Where have we fallen to, a place beyond the best parts of ourselves
I'm still falling,
Falling upwards,
Jump out of the ferris wheel when it reaches its peak
Onto the pavement grounded
...but not until I reach inside myself
and feel the fullness of my liver
Reprocessing the process

Selbstmord

Clear
Clarity
A single leaf falls slowly dancing, in the wind.
Elegance

Can this circle be broken//?
I fall knowingly to my death
and the most amazing parts of my life become apparent

The single, overwhelming
sensation
of
feeling
and being
L
O
V
E
D

To(esday)

and if there's a lesson
that's meant to be learned
and if there's a reason
that i've been spurned
and if there's a waterfall
beneath the diamond sky
and if there's a renegade
flying by and by

then i'm amongst the living
I have climbed through the gates of hell
and Hades no more controls me
I emerge from the depths of the well

Pale Blue Dot

That tangerine sunshine
Transcends into fluorescent porous
Experience
and I am transfixed by the simple tear
sliding seductively down your cheek
until it finds a home in the crevasse of your lips
and reenters the devine something-ness
that is your body.

Oh, to tempt the sunshine godess of
silver underlinings,
pained translucent awkwardness
and a dirty pillow cased
covering a filthy pillow.

Funny how the orange light
makes you seem even more human
less like the envisioned memory
I have of a Tuesday morning,
waking up to the mirror that was not myself.

Smoke flies and love dies and all these small niceties
are suddenly trapped
on this tiny periwinkle dot
that houses and delouses
find and discomforts
salts and slides
across the permeable membrane of my body
into the void that is
and continues to be
the void that is me and is also
without me

Newness

Pretzel stomach
and long forgotten middle moments
Embracing the folds of air
between where I am
and where you want to be

The constant lack of consistency
Bright, unguarded purities
an envelope, a bill, a pillow
The stiffness of breath after a climb
into the cranberry reaches of my porcelain home
I descend underearth to regrow
and mold, or flourish
The twisted cliff of something else

Dreamwork

I take the tips of the world
and tie them together
(like taking out the garbage)
and then the oceans drain and spill onto my feet
and I fall backwards into space
enveloped by stars
until the sun is the smallest point of light
and, still holding the earth,
\my insides are out
and my brain floats like unravelled intestines
knotted cords of experience
amongst the most unfathomable age
tiny moments amidst ancient legacies

and I gently release the world
from my skeletal grasp
and it falls, floating until
(like pizza dough being thrown)
it flattens and unravels

and then, quicker than you'd imagine
it disappears...

The Friday After(noon)

Standing,
the snow helps the Earth to turn
Diagonal assistance

And for me,
it covers up all those things I want forgotten
At least for a while
the peace of purity descends
and I am enveloped in the thick white rain drops
Flying through the air with my feet on the ground
I look up and marvel

No matter what happens,
I can always be transported
Standing.

Listening to Horses

It's Okay,
Half of my(self) is less that Everything
Exteriority replaces the momentary lapse of reason,
-(or the beauty)
of a mesh veil covered face
Where sunlight still finds a home
Despite the attempts at disguise.
Maybe the mask is the mirror
the crystalline pond into which,
unaided,
(I gently lean forward)
I fall

and remove the half to uncovered the w(hole),
we are I.

Myth and Mythology

Is it the void
that makes us?
Or the act of constantly trying to fill it?
The Danaides vainly struggling for completion
in an attempt to gain freedom

...and then what?

After the Flood

Money is the language of deep
under
water caverns.

Left unexplored and
untainted until now.
This canvas of crystalline waters
reminds me of softness
laughter
and the underwhelming
veracity of fracture.
Effervescent moments lead to
strangled edges
deep ends
and a reminder of doves

Midnight

There are so many lines
that translate into drawings
from the deep well of
pure and untouched water
I slowly extend my arms
and salute the sun-drenched
sky line
enamoured with some idea of freedom
that involves selfish abandon
and irreversible damage
to those around me
oh, to be truly free
is to ignore the lines
and drench oneself
purely in water

Blue, White, Green, In Between

Tracing lines down your chest
With a neutral colored hand
Reminds me of the steady to and fro of waves
And the white crashing
of a slow and tender ocean
as it hovers between gentle caresses and
rough thrusts
cresting and returning back
mirror-like calm before the wind
warming slowly
until the tide can't take it,
anymore
flowing in and out without restraint
the highest barrel, the stillest glass

Something About Leonardo

Beyond the shimmering abyss of Time
I lie in wait, knees bent
Fingertips grazing the lowest part of Earth.

Taking a moment to inhale suspends Schönheit
and I am once again
Locked onto the wheel of Time
Splayed out like the Vitruvian Man
Hands connected to expectations
Obligations weight heavy on my Heart

It would be useless to move
The neverending motion of the Wheel
Gives the impression of stillness
Amongst the Mind's thrashing frenzy
and the slow trickle of blood is simply a sign
of the dangers of resistance

Oh, how I yearn to lie in wait
Beyond the ever spinning wheel of Time

The Exploits of a Renegade Nun (And Other Stories)

Here is my conscious effort to escape mediocrity:
I run my Honda Accord off the road
Hover between life and death and then visit Heaven
and redeem my ways
and then impregnate myself (using my womanly wiles, of course)
and it turns out the father is...
Someone rich and famous.

And so I move in with him and castrate him and then I'm a lesbian
So turned off by the whole bloody-penis-on-the-persian-rug thing
So I find another hot female lover
and discover places on her body no one's ever been
or, no, wait
places on the surface of the moon
did I mention I'm an astronaut?

and surgically enhanced to be the most symmetrical person on Earth? ( That's what people want, right?)

And, I suppose,
after staring into the vast chasm of space (and/or the vagina),
I discover how entirely minute I am
and open the exterior door
shoot into space
and am sucked into a vacuum somewhat like a ziploc freezer bag.
only deader.

To be continued....

The Birthday of the Enigmatic Student

Want to know someone
Shadows create a tapestry of light
Want to know myself

Romanticism and PTSD

This is one small ever-encompassing
journey of pure discovery
and the absolute wonder of the world
has not even begun to begin enthralling me
beyond any sort of rational approach
there lingers a deep and bottomless
abyss of indescribable beauty
that holds me softly in it's grasp
and begs me to take a single breath
and to take a single breath again
and to take a single breath again
until I am overcome with life and the encroaching tragedy
of loosing the youth that is wonder
and the ever-present knowledge
that love of beauty is not innate.

Stillness

stalling time, suspended
between footsteps that never even attempt
to touch the ground
obvious lightening of gravity
and Earth's gentle smile
twisting ever upwards, ever
the true randomness of being suspended
mid-air, between

Oh, I touch your face
and the physical universe descends into irrelevancy
a cloud lit sky unveils itself to me
the truest beauty, raw
the bright lightness of right here
moment
being

Oh, I touch your face
and fall beyond direction
into the pureness of neurons firing
beyond
any
fragments
of control

Visiting

metres are spaces between
The love of your life
And an idle meandering

This fourth dimension
Transforms tabula rasa into
Relevance, beauty, nabokov's postlust

The empty expanse that is
Sedentiary living, movement
Steps beyond boundaries
And reminds you of liveliness (change)
Overwrought momentary rememberances
Lead to casualties

Upon Awakening

Walking away from the pier
I confront myself
and pass through

clear waters, muddy streets
mountainous memories
that I am unable to escape
caught in the shadow
of a living breathing behemoth

waves upon waves
thoughts are dancing spiders
trapped in silken luxury
of their own making

boiling water for tea
I rest my chin upon my chest
and wonder at the vastness
of the ocean

and, I am lost.

And I

As the dust begins,
And I
Settling into the spaces.
Tepid water stained faces
Tell
And I begin to dust.
Don't leave the
And I
Lights are never\always on.

SciFi

This dewdrop lifelike
Moistness
That shelters my feeling from
The collective pain of being human
And underwhelms me with its
Crisp and stiff reality.
Sometimes I contemplate other worlds
With simplified structures or
Purple clouded nebula suns
And none are filled with selfish greedy humans
No, not one.

Nothing is Worse Than an Amorphous Blob

When I reach the point
where all the days glob together
like a gelatinous bowl of half forgotten
moulding, peach flavored yogurt
or an amorphous waste of used
and left behind tissues
soiled by experience in the darkest corners
of the human psyche and physique
yellowed and aged like the
pages of a shitty John Grisham novel
read by pre-pubesent intellectuals
that smear the pages with masturbatory
excrement and overflowing hormone based emotions

Just kill me.

Fortune

This is the eye heaviness
that reaches down to the centre of the Earth
the weight of a four hour unsettled sleep
unburdened responsibilities
and the overachievers ache

This is me ever and yet (not even a little bit)
present.
The division between body and all these other
minute distractions
the effort required for me to lift a ten ton finger
beyond the grasp of my own understanding

I am thankful for the automaton-like
surgical precision
that is the back stage
behind-the-scenes
everyday work
of my body (oh, how I'd be lost without you)

Show, Tell

That fire engine red truck roaming wax
crayon
It never disappears, only gets whittled down
to a piece of something that once was a
crayon
but is no longer
and the fire truck red engine roaming wax
is just a trash worthy distraction
from a long discarded snapshot of this place know as

Early

It's a funny,
Oh and we struggle through layers of
Moth eaten, spider webbed memories
Feeling.

The days are growing shorter,
Bleeding and pausing in an uncontrollable manner.
Learn to touch me before I fall apart
Into a dust bin, out of the night sky
It's a funny feeling
Tangible horizon, peach coloured mistakes,
dreams,
what we make of the space between suns

Prose

So I'm back, and wondering.
Is prose...? A lack of penmanship marks me,
or rather, fails to. Something about a cold
night,
lightness of stars suspended below the expanse that is space.

Maybe it's some kind of fragile
moment, this journey that we so preciously value as
self-discovery.
Am I
learning? She stool precariously on the ledge.
Am I becoming? And in a moment, catching the
wind.
Something about tire treads, muddy ground.
Earth, space, smoke dancing between
calloused fingertips. Wait for me, She asks. Or let me wait for you. Silence.
There are thoughts that may form, others that may evaporate
into the consciousness of oxygen and carbon.
Oh, you. Silly thoughts, empty
shells, fucking filterless
cigarettes. So, here we
are. And she sways to and fro, music
irrelevant.

Fucking Haikus

I'm older and even less wise
Sadly, more affected
Impurity/Purity

Spoken Word (2)

drank too much sugar-infused sweetness
and laid upon my stained (various bodily fluids) bed
a little intro-contemplation and the cigarette
I half smoked yesterday afternoon
I saved it
Waste not, want. Or something along the lines of
yearning, yellow coated teeth and red cheap-wine lips.
I sometimes discover places I've already been.

the slap and !
i'm up and off and out and dooooooown
holy mackerel, (is that a bird/word or am I unlucid?)
tender moments filled with the dread
of time elapsing
so prescriptive, and yet the sun still rises
over an ash colored, concrete, gum lined sidewalk.
the absence of cigarette.

Vancouver Aubade

Some gentle sun
Finds the tops of the trees
And in my bed, I begin
To grow
The auspicious buds of May
Taller and more lustrous and more
blue
Even than the sphere of Earth
Between us and space

2 (and/or more)

Only love is all
around and down
Upwards towards, away from
the clumsy introspection
of tender minds
Connections ,telephone wire,
birds and forgotten tied-up laces
belonging to worn down, lived in shoes

Only love is all
Only all is love
Love is only all
Love is all only

A perfect square
of imperfections

Mittag, Kanada

A landed mark across the sky

Awakenings, the subtle touch of wind
Greedy colors steal you
and hold your gaze infinite
The breeze controls your wonder
Waiting for the most serene moment

To stun you
silent, blind, deaf, mute
Oh, to feel

Keats in Rome

How much verse gone, unwritten?
Troubled bodies carrying troubled souls
Led to the dirt with soot stained gowns
Millions of miles between creation and literacy
A fox hole, the nature of one's birth

Out the in Side

Turn the sky inside out
Peel it back
Concrete, disillusionment
The great gap between
desires and outcomes
Where have the stars gone?
There and in between here,
Push, Peel, Disintegrate

And a Wave of Joy Washes Over Me

There's something to be said for
pure
unaltered
spontaneous
joy

sun overtaking the sky
contact
presence

the longest
shortest
briefest
most everlasting
moment

Televis-ion

Watch and silent introspect-ion
What a horribly slow way to loose one's self
Never-ending frozen escalator,
mid-sentence, wawawawawaiting

Listening to Soft Chords

somewhere, here, in between
winter more like fall
summer more like spring

these.
more and beyond,
steps and stumbles, days and daydreams
and the desire to create.

Absence and Ice Trays

Frozen smiles
are carved out places

Where, we wait.

A tiny door inside the mind
Inside the mind it stands

And trembling with anticipation
first to open it
then to close it
then to lock it

Letting in
Shutting out
Ignorance

A warm embrace of fuzzy silence
Calm and control, diffused energy

Letting miracles not happen

Towards

Barren omnipotent white
Cascade of grey blue shielded sorrow

The winter sky
and all the birds stop singing
and all the snowflakes fall
and every moment lingers,

awaits your beck and call

and all the dew drops disappear
into the steadfast seas
remiss to wait another year
to caress their lovely trees

a single hand unveils the sun

Assigned Assumptions

Desperation, the frostbitten face of isolation
Cold nights with bitter aftertastes
Frigid corners, empty words in empty spaces
(The abyss), separation.

To life:
The beauty of polarization
Moments of red mingled with blue
Purple steps on concrete sidewalks
Warmth.

Loving, Something, About

Something about loving
Inspires the absence of selfishness
Fulfills that which wishes to be better
Drops and gives you twenty

Loving, about something
Cracks, fissures, imperfections,
the immense anxiety of dependance
A return to the womb of connection

Closer, further away
Absence, intrusion
Time, affection
About loving something

Railway Cog(s)

The dangling thread of morning
Emersed from cold, brilliant light
Suffocated darkness, grapefruit orange sky
Simple moments remain uncomplicated (hesitation)
Beginning, newness,

the overwhelming brevity of hope.

Original Ideas

And beginning, began
Is there anyone left untold?
Tattered corners, congruent ink
Every piece of every puzzle
Every lie in every truth
Every moment, every beauty
And ending, end

Never one, nor two.

This translucent morning
Levity of being, cracked and floating air
Touch of tongue to teeth
Exploring the marble countenance that is your smile

Waking,
dormant,

cogent, hibernation.

Somewhere between the borders of detachment and
obligation (Connects the dots, reality, escape)
Lies the porcelain head of love.

Sunday Reminiscence

And each time the hand retracts
I can better remember the feeling
And posting signs outside the door
Leaves me with wanted reminders

(Of a life well lived,
loved,)

And the pen marks and key stokes
And the ink blots and photographs
Are all these reduplicated moments
Movements on the tides toward afterlife
And for a moment there is stillness
Moving backwards to stall time

Spoken Word

to wander
and wandering discover
flash floods inspire the brief luminosity of remembrance
the pulled back peel of a new and growing onion
salty ocean, salty tears
a memory of cascading water, the heaviness of clarity as it douses the fire
inside is taste, touch, memory, resistance
a close shave and the deceptive simplicity of smoothness
I am wandering through seas of hidden complexities
in search of caves of long departed necessities

what are these things? memories?
are they waves upon a tranquil ocean?
or stillness beneath the surface of the meniscus?
are they tulips in an open field?
or beaten down, wavering cobblestone streets?
I am wandering and the wanderer discovers
the mirrordom of nature, natural.
and in this brief luminosity of remembrance a tiny speck of soul
and the souls desires and the body's yearnings
and the mistaken moments between neath and under
the fallen fall out shelters of long forgotten, misappropriated memory
that has transformed itself into meaning

to wander,
and wandering discover
that layers of onion obscure the ocean floor.

Reading a Memoir

Nothing strives to life lines
Like the never altered poem
Ballads for yearning and impatience
Daylight, sunlight, moonlight
and all the variations
and all the shades of blue
and all the facets of brilliance
and all the moments that may or may not make up memory

Holiness

Ah, to dance beneath desire
Above reproach
Straddling the luminescent path
of righteousness
Feather touch and misplaced kisses
Second yearnings are holes
in the fabric of contentment
Escapes from right hand restraints
and tepid rain-infused showers

Pulling Teeth

Stress by proxy
The never ending stretch required to maintain a straight line
Waves, clouds, trees
Natures bent and we strive to straighten

Kingdom of Natures

I am the land
Moonlight iris and mirrordom
Extension of length until layers of canopy evolve
Lashes tectonic plates during frantic and short lived kisses
Buttery clouds visible between thick and growing trunks
Wind whispers against surface of skin, sea

Reconciliation

Inside, ghosts
Black and grey prisoners
Outside is an even more daunting escape path
Run Run Run Run Run Stop Run Run Run Run Run Stop
Mice on their wheels,
Moist peach colored endless horizons

Stop Stop Stop Stop Stop Run Stop Stop Stop Stop Stop Run

Tiny Specks of Dirt

stretching moments into single strings
we champion defeat
the ugliness of perfection, evident.

street cars and cinderblocks
glass houses and glass shoes
seconds and the audacity of prescriptive time

what we feel is a photograph
of something between truth and Truth
the glare from a car window
an abandonned grocery cart
desolation and disconnect
dead things, floating in seas of loneliness

yearning leads to imperfection
we idealize longing, the absence of fulfillment.

Aqueduct

And the gasping breath
Hint of sun falling/climbing the dull grey between
Horizon und Himmel
We are ghosts without eyes
Houdini trapped beneath moist ambition
Scrambling to find a tangible steel word
Public, Private, and the spaces beyond understanding
Closed amongst the seaweed and salt
Ah, catching children as they run off cliffs and into adulthood
Chaos,misunderstandings, structure, guilt, convention, anguish, pain,
Death.

Simplicity


The spaces zwischen the self and the other(s).