Hold those doors until your teeth begin to chatter.
That's okay
'cause it's the only conversation that your walls have ever heard.

Talk to yourself until you start to feel you matter,
don't get lost,
you know it's hard to find the path after you've found yourself alone.

Teetering tree tops topple down,
landing, leaning, all around,
there forever for all to see
until the forest burns.

Run from the house until you cannot see your home.
Don't stop for breath,
no, don't stop until your lungs dry up and feet give way to bone.

Let the dark befall you like the snow upon your crown.
Let it linger,
let it crawl under your skin until your cries are only sound.

Aging alpine aspen ashes
wisping, whirling, all around,
parched and barren for all who see
until the saplings grow.

Snub your candles,
break your matches,

You can never be found if you are never truly

                                              
                                                                                                   lost.

"Heart Mechanic" said the sign above the door.
In place of a sinking feeling my eyes just move on.
There's an old neon clock on the wall, half burned out.
"Hearty Stout Beer" it tries to say.
And in place of a smirk my eyes just move on.
A small clatter, couple clicks, and a boot stomp beckon
my attention to steel plate door.
Hip first, elbow after, she backs into the room,
wiping grease off her hands before fixing her hair.

"All done!" She says, "finished up quicker than expected."
"oh, really?"
"Yep. Ran into a few problems but everything just seemed to fall into place."
"oh. that's good then."
"You bet. Almost like it wanted to be fixed, ya'know?"
"huh."
"So all that's left," she sighs, "is to put it back!"
"mmm."
"Are you ready?"
"mmhmm."
"Alright, I'll be right back."
She walks back through the steel door, and begins to tinker.
My eyes float around the room once more.
Blue and white tiles hold my feet up, faded with wear,
probably faded since new.
Beside me, a small table laden with well browsed magazines.
"The Beat on Heart Science," says one.
"What regular maintenance can protect you from," I read aloud.
Fluorescent lighting through yellowed plastic guards saturates the walls.
A coffee stained coffee maker stands lonely on the counter,
a small red light beaming from one of its corners.

A boot kicks the door, then the handle jiggles before turning.
She walks into the room with my heart in her hands.
She's smiling.
"Are you ready?" She asks, "this is always my favourite part!"
"i think so."
She reaches into my chest and starts pulling out blood lines,
connecting them to the empty chambers
of my off brand heart.
"There we go! Now, have you ever done this before?"
"no."
"Okay, well I'll help you then. Here, give me your hand."
She takes my hand and puts it on my heart.
It's cold.
"Okay, now together we're going to prime it, okay?"
"alright."
"On three, we're going to gently but firmly squeeze for about one second, then we're going to let go. We'll do this three times and you'll be set, okay?"
"Three times. Got it."
"Alright, one... two... three," we squeeze and I feel
a rush of blood fill one of the chambers. It's warm.
"One... two... three," we squeeze again and my hand slips.
If she wasn't holding it I might have dropped it.
"Head rush, hey?" Her voice is fresh paint.
"Don't worry about it, that happens. Here, two hands now."
We both hold my heart with both hands each,
finger tips touching. Warm. And soft.
"One... two..." She looks at me, she's beautiful. "Three."
Her eyes are small globes, I see in them every place I want to be,
and her lips, a compass rose, a daytime northern star.
"There we go!"
Her words are sunlight at the mouth of a cave.
She tucks the blood lines back into my chest and the heart clicks into place.
"How are you feeling?"
What a question.
"How do I feel? I feel... I feel through a body that couldn't feel anything before you. I feel warm, I feel warmed, I feel like I was a boulder in a glacier, and this fresh blood has thawed me free. I feel like I am cascading down a mountain with no control over speed or aim. I feel like I have no control, I feel like I'm scared, I feel happy though. I feel happy that I feel."
She smiles, West to East, "that's good!"
"I feel!" I can't help but laugh, "I feel like your smile is a bed of coals that..."
"mmhmm?" She's waiting.
"Like your smile is an oasis in..."
"yes?"
"Your smile... is... oh."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"Does everything feel okay?"
"I don't know."
"****, okay, here, let me have another look."

She peeks inside my chest again and puts her ear to it.
She taps my bare heart with naked fingernail and pauses for a moment.
"Oh, shoot. We flooded it."
"yeah?"
"Yeah. It's no big deal, we just need to wait it out now. Should only take a little while."
My focus lands on the clock.
"but it's late. you should be closed."
She walks towards the coffee stained coffee maker and begins to pour.
"I love what I do," she says as she looks back at me, "I won't tell if you won't," and winks.
"alright."
"Want some coffee? It sometimes speeds up this whole thing."
"okay."
She fills another cup and walks back over to me, steam wafting behind her.
Silence.
A slight hum from the clock.
The sound of her blowing at her cup to cool it.
"So," she asks, "what do you think about after having someone else's hands on your heart?"
"umm, i'm not sure."
"I've never had to have it done, myself. I guess I'm just lucky. Do you think about anything?"
"uhh.."
Silence.
A slight hum from the clock.
The sound of her blowing at her cup to cool it.
"i'm thinking..."
She looks up from the paper cup.
"i'm thinking about how this table has four legs, and so do we, and how those legs," i'm an idiot, "..how those legs hold up two magazines, and ours hold up two people." i am an idiot. "and how those magazines were written by people, like us. and yet," hello, my name is help me, i’m an idiot. "and yet the table holds a better conversation than us right now, because i don't know what i'm thinking.”
"what i think," i tell her, "is that i'm an idiot."

She laughs, "Well I don't think you're an idiot, I don't think I ever would have thought of that. And I've even read through those magazines! Trust me, they aren't all that good for conversations."
"really?"
"Yeah, I mean, would you imagine the same person who writes instruction booklets and manuals," she picks up one of the magazines and tosses it down again, "would make for good conversation?"
"I guess not."
"Exactly, who wants everything to be so straightforward and objective? Might as well just be robots!"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"So, whe- wait, did you just laugh?"
"What?"
"Just then, I thought I heard you laugh. You did, didn't you?"
"No? I mean, maybe? I guess?"
"Good," she smiles, "that means it's working."
"Oh, that is good."
"Yep. So, where do you think you're going to take this thing?"
"What?"
"This heart. The one we just fixed. Well, the one that we're still waiting on to work again, but yeah."
"Where am I going to take it?"
"Yeah, like... Do you think you'll take it to Blake's coffee?"
"Down the street?"
"Yeah, that one."
"Um, I guess so. They've got good coffee."
"Do you think you'll maybe take it there tomorrow?"
"I mean, I can, I think."
"Say, around twelve thirty? I think that would be a good time. They pull their muffins out just before then so they'll be really fresh."
"I'll have to try one."
"I'll show you how to pick the best ones, there's a secret trick to it."
"You'll be there?"
"Maybe... I always go there for lunch."
"Mmm, that'll be nice."
"Hey! Look at that!"
"What?" What.
"You just smiled! And not even a little smirk, you really smiled! That's great!"
"Did I? Oh, I guess I did! I am!"
"Look at me again, tell me what you see. I mean, if you want to."
I do, I do, and I do.
"I see... your... face?"
She laughs. "Okay, what else?"
"I see... Wait, does it need to be something I see?"
"Oh, well, I guess not. You can tell me what you think about anything I gue-"
"Your laugh," I say, "is a flickering street light, and I a moth."
"Oh..." She watches me.
"Your breaths, while we held my heart, were slow tides, crawling in and out of my open chest."
She stares.
"And... Your smile..."
She smirks, then smiles.
"Your smile is tomorrow. It is a coffee shop date that I won't stop thinking about."
Silence.

"You know what I think?" She looks down.
"What do you think?"
"I think it worked. It sounds like your heart's working fine."
"I think so too."
"Are you dizzy?"
"No, not really. Am I supposed to be?"
"No, sometimes it happens and I'm not supposed to let anyone drive off if that's the case."
"Oh. I'm not driving."
"Are you being picked up?"
"No, I'm walking. I'm just a few blocks away. It's nothing."
"But it's raining."
"That's okay, I'm looking forward to how it'll feel, I don't know if I've ever really felt it before."
"Well, in that case," she walks around the office and begins turning lights off, "do you want to walk me home? I'm just a few blocks away too, but I hate the rain."
"Absolutely."
"Alright, are you ready?"
"Yes."
We walk out the door into the dark.

It's cold, and wet, and noisy. My feet are damp and the world looks lonely.
It's windy too, it's a wind that hates me. It's trying to push me into a post.
She locks the door behind us.
Steel bits moving into place to keep us out. To keep us outside in this cold.
"Whew!" She pulls up her collar, "it's more windy than I thought!"
"Yeah, it's cold, isn't it?"
"It didn't look this cold from inside either. What do you think? Still want to walk me home?"
"I... It's really dark."
"Oh."
"It's cold too, and windy."
She looks at a puddle.
"It's dark and cold and windy and the world feels lonely and miserable, and I don't know if I've ever felt like this before, but I don't like it for what it seems to be."
Silence.
"...but even though it's dark your voice is sunlight," I grab her hand. "And it might be cold but your hands are warm."
She looks at me again, it's dark but I think she's smiling.
"And I know the wind won't let us keep still but you made my still heart beat again, and even if this world is as lonely as it feels right now you're here and that's enough for me, so yes, I would love to walk you home. I don't know if I've ever wanted anything more."
"Good," she squeezes my hand, "me too."

The secret to happiness
is not minding some secrets staying hidden.

It's allowing an unexpected blush to sweep across your face
and not asking why.

It's forgetting to shut the double wide door
from the patio to your heart
and not asking your guests how they got there.

It's getting lost down city streets and accepting where you land
is where you were going all along.

It's dripping ink on cotton sheets through blown out veins
because you couldn't get the words out fast enough.

Happiness is vulnerability.

Who cares if I can't tell whether it's you or the view
that makes me want to say out loud
just how beautiful this is to me?

Whether not by either of our choices
both our lives through every trip, turn,
and half hearted heartache burned
have both amounted to you, this view,
and I, losing grip of words
try to pry a peek at something which
I never thought I'd see a glimpse of.

Please,
let me burn this last candle
if it means I get to see one more single
flicker
of your quicker smile.

You used to call me Starshine
I used to wonder why.
I used to call you Moonshine, now I
See the reason I

Got so drunk off words you spoke I
nearly went blind.
Now and then see you pretend
through misty foggy eyes

That time the wind and us the dust
swept up away and off.
Nothing left where nothing was
swept up away and off.

(you know)
I could never lie when I was
staring at your curls.
Cashing in those empty bottles
just to buy you pearls.

I drank 'em first but there's no thirst
quite like the one you left me with.
Always parched, and never quenched until
I find you in a fifth.

I used to call you Moonshine
Now you're whiskey, bourbon, rye.
You used to call me Starshine
and I still wonder why.

Waiting here
Looking at the stars
Watching all the pretty people
Climb in all the pretty cars.

The sun's creepin up
With the numbers on the clock,
It's got me second guessin
If I'm really waiting for you
Or if it's all just a show
'Cause my car wont start
And my doors- they just wont lock.

This old four stroke engine
Never won a race;
Make a lot of noise, but it
Never took first place.
I used to hear it bangin' round my chest, now,
A friendly little growl,
I hope it only takes a rest, now, baby,
I haven't heard it in a while.

I ain't burnin' diesel, baby,
and I ain't burning coal.
I ain't burnin' much now, maybe
That's why I'm so cold.

I’ve got a song in my head
I don’t know what it’s called,
I don’t believe it has a name.
It’s catchy and I hate it.

It’s infectious, insidious,
It’s claws in deep, it’s wretched.
I’ll tap my foot while on the bus,
Slowly,
Amidst rows of other people,
Ticking their fingers,
Clicking their tongues,
To different beats of different songs,
Which they’ve all got stuck too.

I wonder if they’ve ever noticed
That some rattle out the same rhythm.

Every now and then
I’ll notice a face across the way,
Blinking,
To my toe taps.
Like this one girl,
There’s no way she could have heard me.
It was interesting.
Like a nervous tick she sat there,
Rapidly shutting the world out momentarily,
Desperately trying to forget the rhythm,
To think of another song,
Any other tune.
At least,
I imagine.

I saw another at the bar,
Prattling out the chorus with his knuckles
Against an empty glass,
Only briefly,
Before asking for another.

Every.
Day.
It’s the same ****** song.

One, two, six, eight, thirty seven, nine.
I’ve begun to make up words for it.
Eat, sleep, go to work, gotta be on time.
Seventeen, two, ten, fifty, thirty four.
See the screen, watch the ads,
Instill the fear of being poor.

Four hundred forty four trillion
Six hundred thirty six billion
Nine hundred eighty nine million
Forty six thousand and change.

I know I won’t ever be famous
I try but I’ll never be shameless
The direction I’m going is aimless
With all of my dreams out of range.

I see others, heads hung low,
Dragging a foot every other step,
Tapping their pockets in time.
It’s plain to see on some,
How long they’ve heard these sounds,
How many celebrations have been
Narrated by this drone...

Twenty two, thirty one,
Take forty five, sixty eight,
Two three four seventeen hundred wife?

I see some have given up,
Given in to resignation,
Heads bruised, walls dented,
Some mumbled sums falling through their yellowed teeth.

I see others that think it’s funny,
laughing at how it can be so bothersome.
I’ve seen them too, broken,
When a punchline didn’t come.

I saw something today though-
It frightened me.

Crossing the street,
Grinding out a slow bridge
Between my teeth,
A rock in someone’s tire tread
Providing a convenient click,
I saw a window open
And a man was there.
Or what used to be one.
As if he could hear my molars rolling
Heavily on one another,
He bobbed his head from left to right.

When he fell there was no moment of second thought in his actions.
He did not wait to be fully outside,
Presenting himself to the world
Before making a show of his decision.
It was as though,
Rather than crawling over the sill
He was crawling to the street below.
It looked so smooth,
So purposeful.
If it wasn’t for his calm demeanor
It might have looked as though he fell,
Having tripped over something in the room,
And was entirely accidental.

I think it would be more appropriate to say
He fell
A long time ago.

Possibly when he got home.
He fell in the doorway,
losing his boots by the door,
And into the kitchen.
Jacket catching itself,
Hanging neatly on a chair,
He fell towards the fridge,
where he accidentally knocked a fifth of *****
Into his mouth.
And he kept falling,
Towards his cat,
Spilling food into her bowl,
Then up the stairs he fell,
Plummeting down the hallway,
Knocking doors shut behind him as he went.
And in his room he fell so fast
His clothes flew off of him
And in the gust of wind he brought
Clean clothes were swept up
And he fell into those too,
Before,
Finally,
Gently falling out his window.

Maybe he fell before then,
When his job was automated.
Or before then,
When a judge ruled no custody.
Maybe he tripped over the body of a friend in highschool
And just never found his balance again.

I don’t know.

Paramedics were there quickly,
Vancouver’s best.
They must have been just down the street.

Still,
Before they got there
I got there.

His shoulder wasn’t where it was supposed to be,
And his elbow had popped across the sidewalk.

Still,
He was mumbling.

“Zero one double O ten zero zero,
O eleven hundred one zero zero,
Zero one one zero one one zero zero,
Zero triple one quadruple zero.
Double O one hundred thousand,
Zero one ten eleven zero one,
O eleven double O one zero one,
Zero zero one one triple one zero.”


I wish he fell farther.

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.

I want to bottle this air just for you
I wish I could wrap it up and bring it back!
If I could hold my breath long enough this would be easier.
So I think you should just come with me next time
So I can kiss you

I wish you could feel this breeze
I wish you could come above the clouds!
If I had a fan just gentle enough then maybe I could show you.
Until then I think you should just come with me
So I can brush my fingers through your hair.

I wish you could see these flowers
I wish you could see these colours!
If I could show you the shades of your eyes maybe then you'd see
So next time I think you should just follow me
And we can smell the same flowers together

I wish you could feel these hands,
I wish you could feel these lips!
If I could place a kiss on your cheek and my hands on your hips
Maybe I wouldn't have to ask you to follow me
And we could smell the same flowers together
And roll around in the same grass
Forever.

Sun setting
touching tops
of mountains.
Their shadows
stretching,
miles longer than they are tall.
Do you remember
when we were in love
with laughing?
Both giddy
and dancing
tip toe
on the tops of sleeping titans.
We were so young.
Watching our shadows stretch
across the valley floor.
We danced
and sung songs
and drank up the sun til drunk.
We didn’t care,
we were giants.

Staring at this glass I'm holding in my hand
I wonder why they serve it with a plastic little pirate sword
and a storm starts brewing in the sky, up above-
CRACK like a lightening bolt from in the sky, up above
...up above.

Sword in hand I am the captain here of my ship,
staring at my drink I see the waves that break upon the rocks
I see new horizons every time i'm turning keel
and every time I'm turnin I see new sunsets a'burnin
...sunsets are burning.

Bounce off the rocks for a drink or two, all night through,
not really sure where I'm going to, don't have a clue,
-maybe I'll find a way...
-hey, bartender, mister Poseidon now,
the tide's gone out,
I've beached my ship.
and when I look around I see this ain't the place I wanna be.
So top me up
and set my sails,
I know you know that I just want to be free.
Sword in hand I am the captain here of my ship,
it's not called drinking when you're sailing to another land.
No no, thank you, I've never used a crew before
and I'll drift like this for days if I need to.

And I need to.

"This poem,"
She says,
Her words a waterfall I could fall asleep to
And never hope to dream of sunlight brighter than.
"It is so sweet,"
The word rolls off her tongue and onto mine,
Strawberries and coconuts and paradise.
"She must be very special."

We trade words like old coins,
Rattling them in our piggybanks
Until they clink past our teeth
And onto the floor between us.
Coin for coin,
They slide in exchange.
Fair is fair,
Each is stashed in the others collection.
And when we leave,
I know our sums have stayed the same,
But somehow I always feel richer.

How quiet it must have been
for you, Michael Collins...
How calm it must have seemed
for you, Michael Collins...
How tranquil you must have felt
up there alone
with no one on the radio,
except for you, Michael Collins...

Doing something no one had done
with no one around to see
because you were in a place no one had been
with no way to share what you saw
because even radios fail that far away from home.
But not you, Michael Collins...

How dark was it in there
with not even the sun to guide your way?
How still was the air
with not even the wind to make a sound?

How many times did you ask yourself,
Michael Collins,
if you would ever see home again?
How many times did you think to yourself,
Michael Collins,
that you might not ever again
see the faces you remember?

On that clearest night,
did the stars not seem brighter than before?
Upon coming into the sun again,
did you,
Michael Collins,
not feel lighter than before?

It must have been strangely startling
to have been startled by that strange crackle
coming from the radio.
For another human voice to sound so foreign
yours must have been a lie.

How did it feel leaving that void,
Michael Collins,
and crashing back into existence?
How soon did it feel,
to you, Michael Collins,
that your feet were back on the ground?

I imagine you must miss that silence.
...
I imagine you must
from time to time
walk far far away
and look at the stars.

I would ask you one question if I could,
Michael Collin,
on the clearest night
when you look up into that darkness
have the stars ever been brighter than before?

I will walk until I feed the soil with my bones
and I will not stop for food or water
as I do not need these things for where I aim to go.

I will not look back at who I leave behind,
at who will age and crumble where they stand
as these statues do not line the halls of where I aim to rest.

The years will pass beneath my feet like dreams within my sleep,
and names will fade from faces and those faces to the distance.
Of all the places they will haunt not one will be my thoughts.

My soul will ware with each desert crossed
leaving pieces of myself at every corner turned
until I walk on bruised and ****** heels leaving crimson prints behind.

The heat will bake my skin, the rain will wash the dust,
and this coat of skin hanging on these bones will fall;
I will be then just my core, only bones outside an empty husk

Bones are brittle and will break, marrow staining resting rocks.
This last effigy will fail, falling forward with momentum
pointing in direction one last time at where I aim to go

I will then be free.

Sitting in the front seat of a rustic truck,
whose paint has seen more thunderstorms
than my skin has years,
you look so still,
like a porcelain doll,
with the fading light of the tired sky
casting its blue blankets over both our eyes.

Through the pitter-patter
as raindrops splatter on the roof,
in time with the erratic static
of the radios endless loops
I can hear you breathing in...
and out...

And as raindrops trickle down the windows
their silhouettes becoming waterfalls;
shadows running down your face
and over your cheeks to your lips...
down your neck,
and under the warm thick folds of the blanket
that hides wordless fingertip games.

The sound of your breath like slow tide
interrupted by a tidal wave;
a thunder clap so loud we shake.
An electric explosion so bright it wakes
the souls of the living that were secretly sleeping,
safe and sound with the darkness deepening.

My arms pull you close
and your arms pull you closer,
pressing your ear to my chest
and my chest to your ear
so tight that it's easy to hear
the my own thunder inside.

Your eyes close,
your heart slows,
and as your pulse settles down
the trees start to dance and sway,
gently, side to side,
through the wind and rain.

Our stories begin to unfold
in sleep and in dreams
as the rain begins to fade.
And through the clouds
a different trickle,
a leak;
a lonely sun beam
warming your cheek.

Sometimes I'll go for walks
long walks
down long roads.

Sometimes I'll have a nap
not a long nap
and just dream.

Sometimes I'll read a book.
a big book
one that takes me weeks.

Sometimes I'll phone a friend
a close friend
one I left behind.

And other times I'll just sit and think
for hours
about you.

Maybe read the Author Note first**

\
I won’t be your Romeo,
in fact I refuse to be.
I’m not what's best for you,
I’m not what's best for me.

//
I refuse to be your princess,
because even I can see
you’re not what's best for you,
you're not what's be for me.

\
You won't end up my Juliette
I don't want you to
I don’t want a perfect girl
You’re just right being you.

//
I don't want a knight in shining armour;
I can wield a sword on my own.
I'm not looking for love,
you're just better than being alone

\
I won’t be your king,

//
I can’t be your queen.

\//
But together...

\                                                    //
You will never be my Romeo.     At least we'll be something.

A cannibal of currency
You’re not yourself anymore.
Became your purse long ago,
Sense of self tied to coins
Of which you’ve never held.

Little man, little man,
where is your home?
The house on this hill
Just an empty shell
Painted like so much canvas.

There for the eyes of your peers
But your peers aren’t your friends
And your friends aren’t around
Tell me please, where did they go?

Little man, little man,
Do you hear the sound?
No one is calling your name
Where did they go
And where are they now
And why aren’t your friends in their homes?
Little man, little man
Do you hear the sound?
They’re making it plain as day.

You ate their income
Ate them of their house and their home.
A cannibal for currency-
Consumed all your friends,
Fat little pig on the hill.

Little man, little man
(You) can no longer ignore the sounds
Of ten thousand mouths
All hungry for you.

You ate their money
But you couldn’t stomach
The pure human spirit inside.
Now they have crawled back,
Out from the ghettos,
Starving and hungry for you.

Forced to eat each other,
You’ve all but raised cannibals,
But this time of flesh and of blood.
Little pig, little pig,
Can you hear the sound,
Or have you become deaf
To your own cries as well?

No one will miss you
You don’t have a home
Your friends became food
A long time ago.

(Die Geld von die Leute Sie Essen gekauft
Sie isst ihr Geld,
Mehr jeden Tag,
Kein Geld fur Essen
Sie isst Sich,
Jagd nach dem Hunger,
Fett kleiner Mann,
Jetzt der Jaeger ist Essen fur jeden Mund
Kleinen Schwein, Kleinen Schwein
Konnen Sie den ton horen?)*

Greasy lip smacks
Sound like ten thousand claps,
The only applause that you’ll ever hear.

I know that heroes often die
but I can not feel their pain

like footsteps in the dark
I can not see a face
but I know you're walking there,
going someplace- I don't know where.

So is it so terribly strange,
to want to be at your side?
Through all of the days and through the nights
Leaving starlit steps behind.
Strange
how it is so hard
When stillness hurts the most


And when all you do is strain
to make the next sunrise

It's when I need you the most
'cause while your embers start to dim,
I see they still cast a holy light,
a warning, a welcome, my beacon in the night.


So is it so terribly strange,
to want to be at your side?
While fighting our way to the sunrise,
leaving scarlet steps behind.
yes it's strange,
how close that we are,
the distance is too far.

---

And I know that heroes often die
And I can not feel their pain

Only the absence of her voice,
and the echo of his cane.

You know, their silence fills the night
And I can not see a flame

So is it so terribly strange
to want to be by your side?

Where do we go when the lights go down
what do we do in the dark
when there's nowhere to go
and nowhere to play
save for monsters in our heads.

don't turn the lights on baby,
don't turn the lights on now,
the nights not over
and i'm not ready
for you to see me
while I'm playing with
monsters in my head.

look away dear
please hear me now
I'm not always like this
not always not like this
please
don't ask me to change
I don't know what i'd
leave behind anyways.

who am I
who am I to you
who are you to know (that)
what you think is true.

I guess I am just what you made me
what you parade me 'round to be
but after dark
when the lights go down
and there's nowhere to go
and there's no one to play
'cept the monsters in my head...

...do I feel at home,
with the
cold
sweats
shivers
fingernails in my neck

the eyes that are watching see me at my best
the voices tell me (that) it's somebody's worst.
-still,
tough love is true love and no one pushes harder,
the monsters are the only ones who push me to be better.

don't turn the lights on baby
don't turn the lights on now,
the night's not over
and i'm not ready
for you to see me
while i'm still working on
just who
I really am.

---

Cause i'm a monster baby
a monster now
turn the lights on if you want to
I'll cast a shadow down

you'd better be ready
for what you're 'bout to see though,
the voice in your head
is only faceless in shadow

(if) you wanna see your fears
then you wanna bring up the sun
and if you want them to be real
just gotta look them in the eyes

oh, turn the lights on baby
please turn the lights on now
the night's not over
and you're not ready
the dawn isn't coming
you'll never be ready

I've been in the dark for so long
do I even have a face?
haven't seen myself since I was someone else
do I even have a face?

turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on please
I've got to know if I am still here
I cannot tell if I am real.

Turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on now
I've got to know if I am still here
I cannot tell if I am real.

Turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on now
turn the lights on baby
turn the lights on.

I've never been here before
Why is it so dark?
This place is unfamiliar,
So cold and unforgiving,
I can hear wide open spaces
And feel something close to me.

There's got to be a way out of here
But how much pain
How many deaths
Lay between here and where I want to be?

Scared stiff, don't move a muscle
Thank god I'm still alive,
Safest place to be
s'where I've been standing all along.

*******, just take my hand,
Lead me out of here.
I can see you when I close my eyes
Your halo burning bright,
I catch your ghost just for a moment
When I open them again.
Where'd you go, please take me there,
It's where I want to be.

Out of here
Away from here
It's where I want to be.

What's that sound? Something's moving,
Something dark and huge and heavy.
What's that light? Something's shining,
It must have been in hiding
Behind what's hunting me.

It's moving further, getting dimmer,
Fading faster back to black.
Can't see my feet but hear them running,
Cool air rushing by me.
Can't see my breath but feel my chest,
And the nest of coals inside it.

What's going on
I was safer where I stood,
Why am I chasing in the dark
After your fading golden halo?

Running blind- I shouldn't say that,
I chase the only thing I've ever seen.
Gaining slowly it comes closer,
I see now a little truer
A horizon burning brighter,
(I've) not laid these eyes on it before.

How did I go so gently into this cold starless night?
How do I not remember what the day had brought ashore?

Jumping hurdles I can't see
Landing gracefully on
Roots and rocks and rolling ankles,
Feeling so less safe than I am sorry.
Limping, bleeding, scarlet drops in darkness,
A trailing crimson tail behind me shows I must be getting closer.
Pits and claws and stakes and jaws
Crawling now and gaining still.

Lighter, brighter, shining down,
Your halo there above me.
I've made it, I have won,
Your honey bathes me well again.

But I am tired and I must sleep,
Here on the ground close at your feet.
Let me close my eyes and pray that if they open
This was more than just a dream.

A breathing machine
is what I've become
no engine to rev in anger.

A tower of bones
with hands to shake hands
but no strength to hold onto purpose.

These feet making tracks,
they don't fill big shoes
and the shadow I cast will not make the news.

The direction that I'm going,
the perfection that's insisted,
I feel like I've been here
ten thousand times before.
Looking in a mirror
every single time
I go to open a door.

Every place I go
people are always leaving,
grieving about the greener grass they thought they'd found before.
Why's there no place that I've heard of
where the locals long to stay?
Why are dreams always found in the places far away?

I'm done with doors, it's time for bricks thrown through windows,
no more handshakes, only elbows in chest cavities.
I want to bleed, to bleed,
to stain more lives than I could ever cast in shadow.
You can't see the scars I have so I'll earn the ones you can,
I want to bleed, to bleed,
to bleed.

Who really needs an engine to rev up after all?
With gas prices so high
anger's not cost effective.
And who needs a heart to beat with passion
when blood makes people sick?
Who needs a heart to beat at all
when it won't beat back the dreams
of far away places,
both heaven and obscene.

As long as I'm not giving up
then I'm not giving in
and my dying breath will fan
the fire that's within.

I'm done with doors, it's time for bricks thrown through windows,
no more handshakes, only elbows in chest cavities.
I want to bleed to bleed,
to stain more lives than I could ever cast in shadow.
You can't see the scars I have so i'll earn the ones you can,
I want to be, to be,
to be.

I'm fall-
           -ing
                 down
again.

The rocks
       down here
                 are now
my friends.

Maybe I'll
            Just
                  play
pretend.

With my new friends- my old friends
never did help me mend
the ends of my sleeves
with my heart strings unraveling
travelling to the floor
with the rocks all around them
Hey look, there i am,
now they're right here beside me
                           again.

So much loose string
and there's so many things I could sew
but I've never liked needles-
the point on my skin is too cold.

So here
             I
               am
again.

Looking up at the sky
with my old friends above me
gliding on white wings
and floating they look happy,
singing out, crying,
calling to each other,
and sounding so sweetly
the songbirds of summer
                          they fly-

................................................
..........­......................................

I wish I
          could
                 sing
with them.

Rocks tied to rocks
so I'm all out of string now,
I don't need to sing
I've got new ways to show how
falling down has helped me find just who I am,
how it helped me find songs when things don't go as planned.

heart strings tied taut
each new friend has a note,
plucking knots to get tunes
that I don't know the names of.
Singing out for me they sound better than heaven,
notes that I don't think even angels could fathom.

Yes, I
        fell
             down
again.

And I think that I'll stay...

Oh yes, I'm
                 laying
                         down
again.

Why would I get up
when gold sinks to the bottom
Standing only grants
better vantage of *****.
So leave me here please, just keep flying above me,
I'm playing with new friends their songs keep me happy.