Perfect painted pastries
Two feet crowded streets
And I can acknowledge
21st century happiness.

Red traffic lights
Bringing humans together
Perfectly unknown pairs of people
Mirroring perfectly the dream, like
Fairytale cities, like dvd copies.

And you can buy more happiness
With your happiness coins
Because everything is possible
As long as you can double the price
Your smile will be on top.

Higher views
Better tables
The biggest investment
And all you can decide.
With your landlord wishes

Don't worry about the pitiful
That live in the suburbs
And "happy" with their jobs.
We can buy champagne
And live like Charlesmagne.

And what about animal justice
That are served in such nice cans
And look so perfect in our golden painted shelves.

And if we are bored
Another city is growing for us to buy
Another country
Another p...
Ah!

There will be no more of us
In a few years,
Shall we spend all that we can
Living like kings and queens?
Seems such a good plan
Not caring about the rest

And when the **** will hit the fan
We will have our fast planes to
Fly away.
And maybe be in a paradise island
Where everything is perfect!

Just as we like!

There was a time not so long ago when my head hung down and my spirits were low
Forever in a funk and moving slow
I needed a pick-me-up to help me go
My spirits were crushed and I had no faith in trust
Down on myself and feeling pretty low
My back against the wall with nowhere to go
God came calling
He showed himself to me
In all of his glory, he made me see
How much better life can be……
If I believe in his story
Believe in his faith
Believe in the sacrifices that he made
I can live each day better than the rest
No longer broken beaten and depressed
I can live without worry
Without hate
In Jesus name, God is great!

Dear Katie,
                  please pardon the confusion--
mine,
yours,
the weather's.

In group they wanted us to talk about
someone who really loves us.
I started to laugh
                            like slipping on ice
I couldn't wave myself fast enough
                            to save a fall
and the laughing became an ugly cry.

They like us to do things with our hands here
so I made
                a love potion for you.
Yeah, too late. like checking a smoking oven.
But,
       I can still portion by intuition
like how much to kiss you in the morning.

I used
a pinch of rust from a love lock
the memory of five black tulips
and 1 tsp essence of caramel fudge ice cream--
       Jeff Buckley ballads to taste
        baked at 350 until the moon turns silver like your poetry.

Gosh Katie,
                   they took away my books,
said I needed to engage with others.
I went back to group today and said, whoa, back up--
let's do that thing
                              from yesterday.
I pulled my **** together this time, not like before,
and I said,
                Katie mon amour
                 Katie je t'aime je t'aime, je t'aime.
This one ***** goes, you're not French,
you're not even Canadian you ******* freak

But she never stumbled drunk up the stairs with you,
poetry ringing in our ears and the summer night on our skin.
More to be pitied than scorned,
                                                    I can hear you say.
Anyway,
              love ya girl
Katie mon amour,
              Our Lady of Tulips and the Silver Moon.

I sat on the edge of the bed.
You smiled.
I am your daughter,
But words mean to you
Something else.

I took your hand,
Telling you I haven’t slept for a year.
I write reflections,
Tame the voices behind my left ear,
Assemble thoughts about the darkness.

I pour a warm, salty liquid
That burns the skin – it doesn’t moisturize.
It helps me,
This pseudo-therapy.
I hide behind my nickname,
So that no one holds me accountable
For what I’m supposed to be.

You also sat up at night,
You read books.
You carried hidden sadness,
I stick a smile on my lips.

I hug people who carry Egregores.
You and I,
we are not afraid of the night.
Your hand is cold.
You smile,
You put together syllables into strange words.

You know that I matter to you.
I pretend to understand
What you wanted to say.

In a moment, it will get hard.
You’ll start screaming like a little boy,
Or again you’ll wait
Until this state of life passes you.

Life?
It’s a kind of space
Where people, because of fear
Bite and scratch
Like frightened, rabid dogs –
And then soothe it
With controlled tenderness.

I sit with you on the edge of the couch
And I think:
We write with the left hand.
We are beings of the night.
Our path was shared –
In fear, to protect a small piece of “I”.

I fear I’ll lose language.
I desperately defend myself against silence.
I dream of non-human languages.
I write words as if I wanted
To cast spells on reality –
Still, it’s not enough.
The anesthesia stopped working.

One day, this will be the end,
Yet as long as I live,
I’ll be the naive one.
That’s what I want.

I choose sweet, sugar-coated hope,
With pink sprinkles,
Telling myself that he, she
Didn’t mean to trample –
Only life pushed them
Into that dark corridor.

My hope
Is not a soft blanket,
This is a heavy, tight helmet.