Maybe shooting stars are afraid of the dark
And that's why they shine so-
Maybe they're just as scared as I
Of fading into nothing-
Maybe that's why they combust,
Why they burn themselves so-

A narrow path to follow-
Death is inevitable.
The hardest pill to swallow-
This life is inedible.
So use what you've got and burn bright while you've got it-
Living longer isn't worth it if you'll still just be forgotten.

Empty the tanks,
Burn that last candle,
Red line this ****** and lose grip of the handle.

She wears the night sky on her face
Constellations for her freckles
And wisps of shooting stars hang
Forever falling from her ears.

I've never seen forests so small
as the ones I see in your eyes.
I could get lost in them forever
but could never stop asking "Why?"

Why do they look back at me
when i seem such a bore?
Why do they look as if to say
"I just wish I knew you more"?

Why do princes get the princess
and why do the boorish get the boring?
Why are rules made that way,
and why do they seem to be breaking?

Why am I not being shunted,
shooed away, threatened or hunted?
Why are you so willing to overlook roles,
overlook standings, classes, and rules?

You're the definition of immortal beauty,
it will never fade from your face
and the melody that charms me happy
will never fade from your voice.

So why is this goddess sitting with this mortal?
any vague allure I have will fade,
and she will still be an unmelting snowflake
in this world -
                    - an inferno -  
destroying all anyone's made.

So has a frog found a princess?
why must one change to suit the other?
Maybe when they kiss
no one changes,
instead they both forget their lines
drop their roles and leave their masks behind.

Maybe Jack and Jill will say
"Forget the hill"
to see where life will take them.

what will you do?
what will you think?
when
the
time
comes.

what will you do?
what will you think?
when
then
time
comes
to do anything.

you've never really done a ******* thing
and you've never really thought about it,
you've never really ever made a single choice
that every really meant a thing,
or had a
consequence.

keep on coasting
keep on treading
and the weight of all
those woulds coulds and shoulds
will pull you down
drag you under,
make you drown
make you drown.

this is the time
this is the thunder

you are the strike
you are the violence

a stab in the dark
to cut through the blindness

the storm is upon you
if you're not a part of it
it'll tear you asunder

let the rain wash you down
let yourself feel electric

cause you are the strike
you are the violence

the pulse of the fight
the howl in the night
you are the current
that's bringing this
world back to life.

Wet skies
Grey dawn
Blankets the coast.
Black rocks
Sea foam
Triggers the most
Atlantic applause,
An encore to those
Just hearty enough
To make a life on The Rock.

And to answer the call,
Between stone cracks,
Moss roots,
And squalls,
A garden was planted
Where nothing
Had grown
Before.

Before...

Before the Gardener came
The coast was a love-lettered painting,
A bouquet to the sun,
Orange, red, and yellow flattery
Through living imitation.

"Seek ye first the kingdom of God,"
Said the sign
On the gate
At the edge of St Johns.
"But I think I've finally found it,"
Said the man
Creeping silent
With his too sharp sheers
Cutting flowers
Uninvited. -
- Everyone's front lawn
A memory
Of what united
Them for two score years.

****** hands dropping pedals on his way to the shore,
"Don't worry," said the man,
"I don't want to come back,
With any luck," he said again,
"I think this should be enough."
As he placed in the arrangement
A note that read,
"Je suis
Désolé.
Bitte fragen Sie nicht
Für mehr."




100 years ago, July 1st, 1916, the entire Newfoundland and Labrador regiment was killed at Beaumont-Hamel, during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. Of 780, only 68 reported for roll-call the next day.
After 40 some years of having no military of their own, they had mustered up a unit of volunteers to support the war effort. 90% of them never made it through their first engagement.
Canada Day isn't just about celebrating.

We've never had a real conversation
just strings of words clipped from some other communication
and strong together
like a ransom note.

"oh hey, how are you, how've you been?"
the same quick-shot question reserved for friends that you
pointedly stayed out of contact with after
"accidentally" losing contact with them,
and that guy you met one time
who thought you would see each other a second time.

"I'm good, good. Yeah word is going well"
It doesn't matter whose lips those words leave, they're meant for ears of family members who you don't connect with
and that acquaintance who tries just a little too hard to to be a friend.

"I really liked your show, you were amazing!"
Said every person in attendance of a show whose performer they got to meet.

"Hey thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it, say, would you like a drink?"
This whole scene is a beer commercial, not a conversation.

---

"When you look at me i get butterflies in my stomach..."
If you had never heard that expression you would never describe it that way.

"...To the moon and back"
That's an arbitrary distance, and against a backdrop of star pocked infinity it's just insulting.

"I do"
Why, is someone asking?

"Love you"
You're just stilling yourself at this point, and that tells me a lot more about you.

"Unconditionally"
Whoever first expressed in words the notion of love
****** up a lot of couples where someone
thoughts those words meant anything.

Your mouth is a trust, a treasury,
and without actions to back it,
your words just get inflated.

---

These ready made blocks of pre-written prose
first fell from the lips of some lover or another
not now - but a long time ago.

You'd never know someone was able to be angry over getting the wrong anniversary gift if you hadn't seen it happen before.

You would never ask for half off when the waiter brought you fish instead of chicken even though you couldn't stop complimenting it the whole meal
- unless you knew someone had gotten away with it before.

---

"...What's your favorite colour?"
My favorite colour is the sound of preschool children listening to each other and not talking over one another in some kind of verbal dog-pile
- because if you asked the first person who asked that question, that's what the teacher would say.

"what's your sign?"
Something I don't have control of cross referenced with broad strokes of someone else's brush?
How protected do you feel
behind a wall of other people's bricks?

If you're not going to stop being safe,
if you're not going to get over being scared of the dark
and go where you haven't heard of people coming back from
then stop telling me things everyone has already heard...

Then just shut
          the
                              ****
                  up,
and let me listen to your heartbeat.
It's the only honest thing about you.

Your skin,
A silk canvas
Wrapped around you like stars
That cling to the night.
Your fingers,
Lonely threads
Tangled through mine
To make our tangled skein.
Staring at your diamond eyes
The moon passes over,
Weaving heart beats and their melodies
Before it sinks back into memory.
The sun rises brightest,
Brighter than before.
You start to melt
And I catch you in cupped hands.
Holding you to my lips
I drink you in
Until your slip-quicksilver courses through my veins,
With every subtle sip.
Pooled between my palms,
I’ll pour you in the wishing well
Thinking of the thread count
Of our fingers laced together
And how the only things to ever match it
Were our drunk thump heartbeats.