stay up with
me until
tonight is tomorrow
moon fading into a
sliver of
ice

opals on your
cheeks and cold
stars warm
from my hands

lie out under
the sky
keeping our
dreams safe in
whispers

the grass is
ours
and our outlines
can last forever if

we let them.

dizzying drips in the espresso's wake
pool of foam on the counter's face

facade of daily blather
hiss of saucer's edge
rusty change scattered loose.

in this,
I find the mystery of human use.

what we're for
why we're there

the arm that pours
the lips that curve

the standing, tired legs that shout

"I serve."
"I did it." and

"I'm  f**ing out."

so...
I catalogued it-

You asked-
sorry...Assigned.
here's the sheet.

name an event, puzzle through your own
tumbling thoughts and
show me the reason.

right here, line three
it was a bad day.

line four shows my
neurosis.

will laying it
all out be
the cure

the fixer?

I've made lists,
but no matter how many I make
for you

for me
the

writing is still
on the wall.

Dear Lord,

Please give strength to the failing, support to the unsure, rise up behind the legs of those who threaten to topple, and be the barrier between us and the wind. Grant us the courage to wake and to sleep, to breathe in and out, and to ask for help. Give us too, the courage to accept it.
Protect us from ourselves and help us reach out to others. Let us not cast judgment and be blind to our  faults, but let us look past them.
Help us to be present and help put us back together, so we can continue our work to put back together the world for You.

Amen

can you stop
prodding at
my heart
disturbing it
like a rock garden
or pooled sand
my insides are
not so zen
can be disturbed
like cold waves
and every time
I still them
arrange my
mental hair
and tuck in my
theoretical shirt
you just come down the
aisle
and unfold it all
again.

there was
a moment just now
that I realized
there were
no headphones filling
my ears.
this was unexpected
and
alarming.
the insides
of my face
apparently
appear to
have their own
unnoticeable
soundtrack.

I've touched the
lips that wax
and wane
the warm mouth
that sits in
the sky

show me the
one with a smile
like that who
walks on the earth
and I will
surely follow him
all the way to
the
sea.

bounce back
forward
still behind.
if it
was the right
hand, even
when it does
feel right
and the gut
says no...
when will
I know
if my
gut just
felt like
lying because
it just doesn't
want to
be
attached to me
anymore?

You asked for this door.
One foot through the
Other trembling in the stars.

You can[not] have balance without halfway seeking defeat.

Stone's on the water now.

Float or sink.

'This is what
it feels like
to fall',
thought Alice.

'I suppose,
when I land
my feet will
hit first.'

'Maybe there
will be a cushion.'

'I shan't
want to
break my
legs.'

I can see the weakness
in my own words- their
weary Translucence,

even as I
wind my euphemisms and parry
****
snip the comma off,

attempt to catch my thoughts
before venom leaks out
of my em-dash.

but I can't.
Won't.
take back any
noun I flung

And So.

as you
walk down the hall

I see my adjectives
Just-
dripping off your
neck
rolling down the corridor

fat, black
and innocuous

and somehow feel
that I have
completely failed

at English.

pain lacing my
back is
normal these
days

pressure at
the edge of my
throat- an
old
friend

I am
strong I
am strength

a mantra
that's losing juice
like a
battery in

the attic late
july.

if eyes are my
windows,
I need new
shades.

Most days they toss me rocks.
I open the door and they
show me The Desert.

chairs litter the stage
and I carefully go
pulling the thorns off each
one of my cacti.

'drum sticks for you.'
'did you need a pick?'
'try that sentence again...
without that word...'

Door slam. Louder than the drums.

And during that time,
I am aware of the danger.
But it's not the kind you know in the
***** of a blade against your neck...
It quivers on the surface of
my reptilian brain
like a polluting film.

I go on blithely.
dancing on the concrete
jiving for education
slurs rolling off of
me like rain.

it's any day, in the midst
of the early morning car ride.
tears slipping onto my scarf,
down, into the lip of my traveling mug,
that it comes out to
my Father.

"Sometimes I hate this job...
but then they talk a bout love songs."

it's professional roulette
from day to day-
whether this afternoon
the trapped souls
will hand me coal
or diamonds.

So Stuck.

Mire of Muck.

Inside my Blood.

On top of my Soul.

Get out of my
head Oh, you Bandaid
Boy-

you're so
utterly
lovely
why can't you
be good?

the way you
promised
your mama
you would.

thread by thread it
is Cut.

scissors crafted from entwined roads
battered cities,  unknowingly sheared away by miles
promises snipped.

blunt cost computed-

Paid in full.

How are you?
[no I'm not. I'm not. Everything is falling apart] Great!

Hi!
[I need to hide. hide before my seams split open] What's new?

How was your day?
[frustrating. brick walls. ice daggers. you name it. I need a tall building] Not too bad, yours?

How are you feeling?
[shattered. please don't...I can't] Sleepy, a little.


[bursting out. spilling. tidal wave of complete wrongness. ribs rattling around uncontrollable feelings. rage. throat tight. calves twinging. head spinning] Smile!

Could you-
do you?
really desire this knowledge?

Unwanted, unwarranted, personally, so I won't regift.
I'm not sure your ears  really want the weight of
it, anyway.

it's already been written myriad-
the elusive verse,  
felt numerous
by others
dimensions parallel to mine

it's why we do
it isn't
it?

but what of
the depleted word bank?
slowly drained like blood so
precious with only
silver floating plasma left
ethereal, just synonyms and
consonants still clinging
to the edges of the canister


what will I say-
when nothing else remains?

it's pushing me
down this life
all the gravity
that shoves
shoved for almost
twenty five ...
am I?
quarter of a
century air
poundage
and I transfer
your pain
his pain
their pain
into my head
and can't even
help it
the weight I
can barely carry
on my own
I'll carry
yours too.
because that's
what I
always
do.

To the hand that slid to my shoulder
As you began to drift...
Since you've gotten there first-
May I love you in my sleep
As much you love me
In yours.

Learning how to be alone
is an art.
I do not mean
with, without
a lover.

Learn how to
be alone in
your self.

feel the skin
the way your soul
fits in
your bones.

rest there

like water
and stay as
it tugs
for the
longer you
can stand
it,

the stronger you
will be
when you
journey to
Stars.

strangers often see
the most unfortunate parts
of bared hearts
stuffy noses
and baggy eyes.
they don't know
what you thought of
today.
whether breafkast
was toast, or
regret.
so when I
can read someone
Else's face.
like a book
on the second grade
level.
that will be the day
when I become like
prof x
and won't need to
play eye hockey
on the subway
anymore.

a snowman eraser smiles at me
smug, despite the pencil end shoved
elsewhere....
it's hard to believe that jolly lie
especially when delievered by
office supplies.

silence presents a focus
problem.

there's space to echo
clicks, slides and bangs from
a cliche school hall-
a distracting balm for
productivity.

the number of cups
of coffee I've
forced past my lips
does not add vigor to
my smile
no matter how much
it may taste of
synthetic vanilla.

I want to smash
this apple across
the knees of my employment.

since floricide is not
an option, I instead crawl
to the corner

and cower under my
dunce's hat,
and just wait
til the bell rings.

My heart walks away, for a time,
Just to be safe...
She's a prize fighter, I know how to fall
Down. Rips, fissures, normal wear for 31 years
In the shower silence
In that quiet place she stands and I unfurl
A life is a life, lived, fought, dribbled away or burnt
And
This one's hers.
So I stay with the cold space in my chest,
And wait for it to return.

Stuck in the 9-5 of Everyone
Else's life
My undiscovered dreams shelved
Luminous theoretical future
Kisses overflowing interlocked and
Delivered with promise
Transparent truthful question in
this Interim-

Is ' Happy' enough?

****-
if you write
it...
They will come.

In a  slow, desperate burn, we are falling. Failing.
Too little too late. Too much in the wrong place. Outrage not action.
From the trees, from the sky, we are calling and questioning, bemoaning, condemning.
Our hearts are corroding, our feet slipping, from containing the pain of the
World.
Bridges are snapping, ribs are breaking, eyes are closing.
The pictures we glorified on screen, the peanuts we paid to watch fictional strangers die-
They have stepped out, escaped and run rampant.
We lived the illusions out.
No zombies. No fire. No meteor.
Hate. In tidal waves. Ignorance in brimstone.
Apocalypse is now. We are how.

Love as
an anagram
starts the
word-

Evolution.

A panacea,
the band aid word I
slap on conflict

A solve it all

Acronym for nothing and
Diffuser of
All scenarios.

the  more politely phrased version of
The mafia's cry.

But no matter how you slant the saying,
It's still salient- and a parched, bleached lie.

Sometimes I feel like a walking calamity.

sort of unfinished-
like a painting missing just that last daub.
Like a sketch instead of a snapshot.

I'm clothes that don't totally fit.

I feel ungrateful- often.
Smarmy and altruistic.
A vain liar.

the princess ideal is not for me
nor is the martyr

but lately I feel I wear both the dress, the cross and the crown.

Invisible stigmatas staining my palms.

Bearing everyone's burdens but my own.
When did I decide that was my job?

Who chose to put me in this role?

If I am in charge of my own destiny, why did I choose such a lousy one?


in the final fight,
I won't walk to the light. I'll brandish my umbrella for the storm cloud.

I've painted on the silver lining for others. They've eaten my words.
But this is something I cannot swallow.

Oh life- you bitter pill.

I am stumbling around with all of these souls
palms slapping- 'Good Game, Good Game'.
Like Uno or Memory
My instructions:
Find the matching cakes, flowers or dice...
But...
Being able to target- to heat seek and know
Instantly
that you don't fit with them...
I worry.
A giant misshapen
Puzzle piece in the
Cosmic factory bin
What if God forgot
To make me
A Match?

this is
old and salty
torn broken lost.

Page from
your diary?

your list-
a cheque book...
so Important.

but evidently
slipped your hands.

Isn't it all.

By the way...
you're out of milk.

you're too young to know
[should be]
so how can [it be that] you feel  [felt]more
than me?

how could you have
lived so fast?
[already]
spent so much of
your precious essence?

already felt the cuts
that fate whipped across
your soft, powdery cheeks
[barely marred, maybe, by hair]

your hourglasses already
half spent
sand dribbled out strewn

like ash from
tipped onto the kerb
in a blaze of colour, sound and
mellow confusion
a dangerous sway and crush
[that I'll never understand]

how it could be
that

You've already all become
so Old.

or is it my life-
was it so different
A gift your generation
just missed

because Maleficent
got to
the party
Early.

Let's talk about love and how
It isn't
Turn the trumpets around, angels
Rip those roses, petals apart
Inside out
Lay low for the vicarious, while they're
Still doubting
For heartache is brutal and
Also causes Gout

I swim
through the ocean
of my own consequence
one I've  forged
with my own neurons and
feeble synapses.

I traverse
this plane
existing as I do by
the seat of
my own trouser legs
frayed edges show
only in the closest
of light.

I float
Backwards in my own
consciouness, my
existance a waking
moving riddle
my own eyes,
the eggs
on the skillet of
this reality.

this constant
cosmic breakfast is
a mystery to me...

It's not
strong as
some...but the
taste of a
garden stays on
my tongue.
lips wet
like grass after
rain, the
scent of flowers
leaves my breath-
the *** is empty.
time to join
the life outside.

it's cold

having tested the
boundaries of this
knowledge
my nose retreats
rough brushed felt
the most likely home
hidden behind the buttons of my jacket
and scarf
jam red, spilling
up over the collar
into the morning grey.

I squint up
the road past The
Rooster, down to the
bus hutch, barely containing
the  Asian nanny
with pink-hatted Precious

this bus is not for me
nor the next

I glance down at
the slip of paper
crumpled, dwarfed by
my mittens,
I thumb the coffee stain kissing
the blue of the ball point pen scrawl.

42.
was I even sure that
was a route?
the price?

no change chilling
in the pockets against my jeans
a bent fingernail against denim
reveals I've also
lost my pass.

8:58 now

maybe best to just walk.

what was I expecting?
that the meaning of life
would really cover my fare
on the next bus? the
self loathing brought on
only by subzero, interrupted by


the scratch of metal
on the concrete at
my boot tips

golden.
flat.
I have won.

that's more like it.
I'd rather travel by
glass elevator anyway.
If we're splitting hairs..

Dear The-Way-It-Is,

You are a wall of un-change
a tidal wave of useless titles
a blast of helpless brick bits
a  futile hale-storm maelstrom of styrofoam hopes

this is the forecast I cast
throwing knuckle dice.
feeling it in my knees.

no carving out of entrails.

due to my extreme kindness
to geese.

don't go to bed angry
don't go to bed scared

go to bed strong
because the world's not fair.

I don't like you
sometimes.
I don't like me
either.
We're the same halves
of different stars
Or is it
the reverse?
I thought
I glimpsed something
in your face.
But no
It was just the
light.
My
Mistake.

This rawness
The salt of life
In all my wounds.
Of this existence.
The obstacles and trials
Of being human.
Are too much but in one...
the same and
Enough.

Everyone's in therapy.
Treatment for this-
Support for that-
Guidance for her-
Counseling for him.

As it turns out-
Life requires a jacket.
But for the people who help out,
And keep the others afloat-
How do they not drown?

hitchhiker
on the road
to the
last restaurant

forgot my towel
lost my head

Don't panic.

Right?

I can see now
the smooth expanse.
but your cards are still
up and you're not
telling.
so I put
my head down
and just
hang on.

I'm smiling quiet,
gazing at your face in my head
tracing the indents of your mouth,
behind the backs of my lowered lids.
in the distance we
are close,
laced in the fingers of our souls,
even when I'm empty,
you make me whole.

Eat your
words-
when no one
is around to
witness.
devour them
whole.
swallow your
soliloquy.
digest your
righteousness.
descend from
the lofty steed
and See
Spot Run.

when it lights up, and it isn't you...
and it's not. and it won't be.

I strain through the cloudy ether-
struggling to translate those fragmented strands,
crystalize them into some sense
but the swirls, and the void-
it's impossible to detangle

I see the shining pillar through the mist
but the fog around it-
is that your doubt, or is that the ultimate truth?

why did...?

maybe it's time I stopped...
tilting at windmills.

and the wind came
and I was defenseless
for I had not boarded up
my windows
in fact I
had opened up
my doors and welcomed in
the creatures of
plague
I invited the leeches
onto my ankles
beckoned the water snakes
into my hair
and sat in the chair
I had wrought of
moldy river reeds
and looked up at
the storm and the
ark and said
too late
this flood
that man
they've gone.
so I'll
just stay
right here
For as long
as I can.

at night it's
the hardest
I turn to
your side and
trace the dent your
form would have made
sleeping here for
weeks, your hand
so sweet and heavy
on my hip
chest rising and
falling all
fluttering eyes and
dark hair.

at night it's
the quietest
the fan slowly whirring
as the dark deepens
and I can't
hold out any
longer and fade
only to wake up
confused because
you're still
not
here.