old makeup spilled on my floor
dirty clothes strewn on my floor

I have a new, thousand dollar laptop
less than two hundred ($)  in checking
no groceries, yet plenty of prescriptions

(but they are needed, much and every day)

where did all these bills come from?
suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money.

I get what I ask for, and it always comes, at a price of over a hundred dollars,
and more bad luck than a couple broken mirrors smashed over a black cat.

Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents!
Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement and adult decisions?

Break open my mother's back,
or my father's checking account
so long as I get to swipe down
that magnetic strip of their love

(that proves that they love me)

and we will buy strawberries
for five dollars and nine cents
and eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

flicking the tips of eyeliner up
like a little tail, the ends of eyes,
black as my tightest velvet pants

and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
bags under eyes, a little anemic,

(I think it adds to the glamour)

I will put on perfume and furs,
silken drawers, fine gold jewelry.

I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,
just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
until I die, or something else.

The rain washed a little of the grey away

Away with some of the disappointment and the turgid

Turgid feelings of abandonment and conflict

Conflict and all the other 'ents' washed away today  

Today with most of the negative things I had to say

Say anything to me now, I finally have my dream

Dream discovered, an attempt, recovered

Recovered if all dedication and zeal coalesce

Coalesce into the rebirth of my 'Ice-cream Truck'

Truck of dreams, 'bailey wick,' handing out wishing stars

Stars falling like a gentle soothing sleeping rain

Rain Washed A Little of the Grey Away, no longer insane.

Insane no longer at least not today coping coping

Coping in order not to run rabbit run away

John liked it
Sam liked it
Oscar, philipa and James liked it
Penny she really liked it
Leo loved it but there was no love it button
So he liked it all the same
Which was ok
Surely love
Is made up of all the likes or so Leo thought any how
jasmine hated it
Christine well she couldn't be bothered to read right now so clicked write a poem so she could create her own little masterpiece
That Inturn could be liked by the masses
Grace
She stopped a while
Grace connected
Grace was inspired
Grace left a comment
The comment read
'I really like this'
People rush around to fast
But for the grace of god
Hold tight to the likes
Tomorrow the dislike button May be around
Then we'll all be in trouble

In July 2010 my boyfriend told me over text message that I scared him. And that I needed help that he couldn't give me.

One month later another boy said almost the same thing. I wasn't saying much. I never do. And he said I should speak, that my silence was scaring him. That maybe I should talk to someone, because he did and it really helped him.

Tonight, nearly three years later in the car on the way home form a movie with my mother she looked over at me and said that I seem quiet. I said I was always quiet and she said no, quieter than usual. She said I frightened her and she would like it very much if I maybe agreed to talk to someone.

Gertrude, Stradbrook, River and Roslyn,
off of McMillan, my thoughts froze on Osborne
A drive through the village on slippery streets
Bought records, drained pints
                        swallowed down summer nights
Back home in Wyoming--think I'll be fine
                         'til some night, filled to gills
                          trip through streets with a stranger
                          and sing "One Great City"
                          through swollen closed throat

And I remember...

Confusion Corner, commuting through cold streets
Watched you drive as the daylight died
I narrow my Focus,
                                     you eased into traffic
The Assiniboine ran and was watched by Riel

January.
Johnson's Terminal.
London Fogs.
Took Yellow Dogs for long walks
and Exchanged now for then.

Winterpeg, Manitscoldout
Portage & Main
Shivering, smiling
at a Tavern Uniting with friends,
'til we took the King's Head...
We took the King's Head.
Long live the king.

January.
Magic Thailand.
Curry soup, curried thoughts thawing,
melting, falling from pickled brains,
                      through lips chapping

Form a Perimeter
Frame a city
Bullseye, center, a Gold gilded Boy
he leans into sky, as they sing, as I hear.
The road North Ended--November, it was.
I think, one year prior, in Robin's Donuts
on hinges that sighed metallic,
I caught your eyes--organic, unplanned--
               through fog frosting lenses
Caught them, held on
               Held your deep brown
               In my gunmetal blue

Seasons will chase--haste to follow more seasons
White streaks to green
and the Red River runs.
When they score at the ballpark,
"Go Goldeyes!" the cheer sounds
Cheer. Cheer!
The Guess Who still suck,
but the Jets completed their round trip
"Go, Jets, go!" so the cheer goes.
"Cheers!" Cheers like bells.
             Bells
           Pealing
Peeling like your sunburnt back
            Bells
          Ringing
           Striking
Bells singing long
Bells sounding loudly from Grace Bible Church
  baptizing Baltimore as it kisses Osborne

Bells ringing. Round sounds.
Round rings for fingertips touching
Bells
Round sounds that hang on my neck
and sing me to sleep every night--
remind me how badly you wanted those bells
                I denied you.

They sing "Left and Leaving"
             and show me old scars
          they ring and peal and strike
                         and sing
                         unending.

I remember April of 2008
Dropping my toque in the mud-and-slush street
            We took Pembina Highway
              Ate Vietnamese.

I remember...

Confusion Corner,
Commuting through cold streets,
Watching you drive as the daylight died
In your blue '02 Focus
Ease us back into traffic,
The Assiniboine River.
And Louis Riel.

So tell me...

Comment-allez vous, ce soir?
Je ne suis pas comme ci, comme ça.

Sometimes life presents challenges,
which at the time may seem small,
but instead, appear insurmountable.
Finding true love is one of the hardest
tasks that humankind, as a whole, faces.

Many see love as pure fantasy,
reciprocal, requited, and unconditional,
as true love is meant to be.
This kind of love brings contentment,
and internal peace, which can be unlike
any euphoria you have ever felt.

This love intoxicates and exhilarates.
It will lift you higher
than the tallest mountain,
and make you feel fuller
than the deepest ocean.
This love will make you feel whole,
and complete, with the
joining together of two lost,
lonely souls, once wondering adrift.
in an union that fulfills.

But, for a select few, this ideal of fantasy is
more of a reality filled with heartache.
That same reality can bring us to our knees,
and the pain alone can smother us,
to the point of not being able to breathe.
Then comes the constant cycle of hurt,
emptiness,  and anger, which draws us back
to the source which has caused such emotion.
It leaves us begging for the pain to stop;
sometimes making us yearn, to once again, be with
the one who has caused us to feel such turmoil.

It is an addiction unlike any other,
caused by the fear of being alone
and starting anew.
We now find ourselves
sacrificing our own self,
to maintain a sense of familiarity and safeness.
Not realizing, but instead blinded by memories,
that this reality is showing us that it
was just not meant to be.

It takes time to mend a broken heart;
time on our own,  to discover our true self-worth;
time to realize that love will find us again.
We will encounter a struggle, unlike another,
to overcome our fears of distrust and vulnerability.
Many lessons will be learnt, along the way.
But, with strength and perseverance,
all of the time spent healing,
will open our heart to a brand new beginning, one day.

First, we must realize, that deep within our own self
lies the ashes of our once brilliantly burning heart.
Only with time, will our pain become manageable.
Yet, we will always wear
the scars of a love gone bad,
as an embattled soldier wears his own, from a war lost.
But, choosing to not allow this to consume oneself,
is a true challenge, in itself.

In the end, deciding when we have had enough,
is what will allow the reopening of our heart.
We must learn, to not allow the pain to truly hide
the one thing that lies right in front of us – opportunity.
Sometimes this opportunity,
is a new love, that is more fitting than the last.
A new love, one that will ease
the loneliness that
envelopes us like a blanket;
a new start with someone who can
love, respect, cherish,
and adore us,
more than any ghost of our past.

We all have the power to turn
our reality into fantasy.
However, never lose sight,
that even true love is not perfect,
and neither are we.
We all make mistakes; we will disappoint.
Not all of us will possess the means, or desire,
to hurt another on purpose.

It is the search for a soul, that mirrors our own,
which will be the hardest struggle.
This struggle can be won with one true fact -
not all people are alike.
Once we open our mind, and our heart, to this,
all fears and inhibitions will melt away,
as the sun melts the snow, in early Spring.

With this sign of rebirth,
our new love will be unlike
all we have experienced before.
But, we must never allow our past
to dictate our present,
which will ultimately decide our future.
We must find that power within ourselves,
to overcome the reality,
by embracing, and enjoying,
the new adventure, and path,
we are about to undertake.


Vicki A. Zinn

February 2011

We watch the waves crest
and tumble, playing,
fragmenting quickly into jigsaw
puzzles, bubbles dancing on our

fingertips, outstretched
as the sun soaks
through our skin so deep
we're replaced by solid light,

and the corners of our mouths
soar up above the seagulls,
and the swells in the distance shimmer
like night-time's looking glass,

predicting
the movements of the stars,
and there's something about
the easy breath of the sea,

the energy and rhythm,
that makes us feel like running
unbound, and when we return
with tousled locks of sun-dried hair,

our skin sticky sweet, saturated
with layers of salt,
our socks made of sand grains
that tickle our toes,

pockets full of sea-stones
and oyster homes
and smooth glass, bottle green,
the color of daydreams and kelp,

we know, despite miles
of asphalt and cumulus clouds, despite
time-tolled memory,
that our ocean never leaves.

all these goddamn poets
thinking the universe has
anything to do with her eyes,
like the cosmos
have nothing better to do
than to watch your lust
bloat and wither.

(can't we just be human for once?)

My life is brilliant

His voice has been with me
so long

that pain
that joy

cos Ill never be with you

listening,
CD in my mom's car,

dark nights,
lights along the highway,
full moon watching over us
like a parent

knowing every beat
of the drum,
every strum of
the guitar.

every break in his voice

like a second skin,
pulling over me,

youre beautiful,
youre beautiful,
youre beautiful, its true.

every time i needed him,
he was there,

and i could
sing along with him,
without ever looking at the lyrics.

and i don't know what to do.
cos ill never be with you.