we never found god.
we never found god.

the only shining light we see
is alarm clock blue,
refracted from the glass of your
empty ***** bottle eyes/

the last drop of this substance soul
finding it's way into (y)our body.

"Old habits die hard"
were the words you whispered as you kissed another cigarette and
I agreed with you
"that's why you're still in this room with me."

A thousand wind turbines stand like men
on a hill in Texas. Each with a red eye which
blinks in the night. A thousand men stand
like wind turbines on a hill in Texas. Each with
two blue eyes, shut the entire night, the entire
day. There is a chapel on the hill.

There is a monster behind my back,
That no one else can see.
My eye can neither view him,
But I know he’s here with me.

The monster is there when you’re thinking,
And when you are awake.
But when you are sleeping,
your dreams he’ll forsake.

Call for him never, for he shall not show
But he’ll follow you far, wherever you go.
He’ll point out wrong, he’ll point out right.
And all the things that are not by sight.

He does not require any reward, nor fame.

There is a monster behind my back.
     “Conscience” is his name.

you licked your lips and they were
salty

THE SEVEN-SECOND GENERATION.

White plastic hanger, previously molten molecules, bleach additions and thermodynamic repercussions. I use the word thermodynamic because "chemical" has a falsely truther connotation to it. It hangs the shirt I choose to wear for tomorrow.
A hanger is a hanger is a grocery bag.

There were actions behind every reason—but not reason behind every action.
And you don't talk about it, but you think about it—because you don't want the whole world to realize that it's loneliness hidden in that shirt. You were only trying to tell yourself that maybe buttons on the other side was for the better.

I forgot which words to capitalize in a title so I took capitol on them all.

There was a world once, out there, somewhere, that cared for more than seven seconds. They hung up the power button, asked the tide to come closer, and walked until their hair was wet.

Kept going until water kissed water within lungs.

I still smell like you
And your Irish springs body wash
At 5:03
On a Sunday morning

In dreams of night and dreams of day
I dream of concrete where we lay
In rays of sun: the gaze we weigh.
We stay and wash away the grey
We stay and never fade away
Only in dreams do we ever
               Stay.

I was always lost
in many thoughts, and many glances,
other beaches, circumstances—
Ravelled in, a set of hands, of another man.
Oh, all with the same name as you.
Oh, all with the same name as you.

It's not luck, lover
only privilege.

There is a God—
and we both fell in love
with Him—and He
loved us both back.
The only difference between us
is that He made me
immortal.

735 days since my skin touched yours

In one second—a universe existed: each
with 735 Earths, each
with 735 cities, each
with 735 hundred sets of lovers, like us.

In one second—each planet had
735 extra suns. 735 cities burnt to
the end of their matchstick in 1/735th of a second,
the same second that we had last touched.

You asked me, then, if I ever thought I had loved anyone in high school. I didn't answer you, because all I could think of was if a world could feel the difference between the burn of 735 and 736 suns.


They can.

one day you will be too poor to afford happiness

pill after pill
out of the orange
under your tongue
and into your blood

chequing account gradually dissolving into
$0.00

one day you will be too poor to afford happiness
your sanity sleeping with the devil
and i will laugh

Your screams are mean, and it seems I am looking for meaning, because
Mean is meaning.
Mean is meaning.

I lead truth like a thread
through the eye of my
needle, stitched into your iris
and sewed up the virus.
Took bets on bids.
Two kids walking train tracks under your eyelids.

How sickly, the world of man
Who devote only
but a day to all
expression.

Love hurts,
and so does lust.
But trust me now, somehow—
rough *** with a stranger
only endangered


my loneliness.

i wanted to kiss you 14 minutes ago

Rusted butterflies swoop
Fall into the copper canyons of



My tires.

I do not know why the caged bird sings,
nor why I chose to stay inside on
the sunniest day of the year.

There were no birds, no songs, and no cages.
Only shadows of your house on the backyard.

with fingers of sin i had touched your core, unzipped your jeans like locked church doors and swore i would marry you one day.
they say i shouldn't love you anymore, that poems are only for those you adore—but when you left i was naked on the floor, sold my soul to the convenience store, and
to forget a ****** i kissed a *****
kissed my lips and cried no more

I saw you in Tim Hortons for the first time in three years.
You told me I had grown and
I congratulated on you on your weight loss.


She is my best friend.
You didn't raise a child,
You raised an ironwork frame.
You threw a girl into reality before she could even spell the word.

And I would love to look at the other side, but I can't—
it always loops back around like that little girl
doing circles around on her ten-speed as she pulls up
to the convenience store to buy you cigarettes.

Hey, at least you called her an ambulance—
On Thanksgiving Day when she passed out
from lack of nutrition because you spent your last welfare check
on something I don't even want to hear your excuse for.

I remember my mother, coming into my room at eleven pm on a Wednesday, telling me to put some shoes on because you snapped a pool cue and placed it to a guy's neck.

My pajama pants ripped as I broke into your apartment to wake my best friend up and tell her that my mom was parked outside and she had to spend the night at my house.

You spent the night in the drunk tank hitting on officers.
She spent the night beside me crying and asking for any other mother but you.

We were in grade 6.

When she was 13, she had to live with me for 3 months because social services deemed you, "unstable."
When she was 14, she moved away to the city because she couldn't handle you anymore.

I went to visit her last weekend and she didn't say a single word about you.

Love is fickle
but lust isn't—
so come over here and
I'll fix this rift
I created with words

I wrap my body around my mind
I wrap my arms around my ego

We were wrestling in your bed
And I grabbed your leg—
Seven others wrapped around me.

we took no pictures and shared no public words—
the most noticeable love:
the one that almost never even existed.

all you left on me was fingerprints
and even those have started to fade

Slapped myself on ketamine
and found that it
hurt more than it did
than when I actually had
some feeling in me.

Rough love, soft love.
Choke me a bit, are you okay with that?
I guess it's what I'm used to.

Warm skin, heavy blankets.
I pray we don't end up like our parents.

I am the jellyfish that sits
in the bloom of your waters,
looming my lines across your ocean
motioning you towards my toxicity.
I'm water, I'm water
Simplicity.

We're all just grinding in that repetition

(Is next year a parallel line or are we caught
in the circle.)

The cycle drops you into a craze.



I get an invite to the future.

I ask you not
to step on and snap this silence
that the city bus creates
humming gently into a permanent
tread mark.
A footprint of
the squinting spark.






Silence!
Speaks to everyone.

Stop comparing tragedy—
We all know this already—that
Everything hurts.

Ah, the standard of life,
which comes in threes:
Education, career, wealth.
The likes of which we have welded together into a closed circuit.

my thoughts are caustic
our hips, smooth and spastic
in line like jigsaw rows

"where are you from?"
your voice cracks like a toy gun.
"come on—"

i still have trouble
trying to teach myself
to touch something that
i never even thought existed
in the first place


my fingers go right through you

God's firmament: only
a child's planetarium projector—
If only I could project my
vows in a sphere of light
with even a handful of batteries, all the
eyes in the world
could see how ******* thin
my gossamer guilt is.

My conscience is silky smooth
like Venus-razored legs.

Sorry I can't
hear you any
—more.
I think we're

breaking up.


I think we're

breaking down
each other.