A plane made of tin cans soars in flames through the sky.
Black smoke trails its tail as it plummets to ground.
I stand.
I watch.
              unfazed.
The nose of the jet crashes to  the earth and it burst,
into tin butterflies,
which undoubtedly, to the skies they return.
                                                         ­                      I wake.
in the same room,
in the same bed.

the same place was I, when the sun rose,
and dove into the horizon.

the same sky,
the same clouds.

the same smell of the sewage rising through the streets I trek.
the same people at the corner store that check,
for loose cigarettes, gossip, trash talk and street knowledge I bet.

I forget.
I'm confused.

What may be normal for you may differ for me,
when gang members intimidate everyone they see,
on the crowded concrete streets of Broad St,
bums ask for change for something to eat,
then run to store like ***** for cigarette.

Is this "Normal" for you?
for me, its as plain and repetitious as a scratched CD.

I wish you could borrow my soul to understand me.

rushing in,
rushing out;
running after,
running from;

a soulless journey,
with no direction no passion.
(the end--bathed in darkness)

time travels on,
yesterday today tomorrow;
an endless trail to the left--past
an eternal path to the right--future

it's the same story
in a different narrative;
a book, an essay, a poem:
10 pages, 10 lines, 10 words...

life is an empty surface--not adorned with ink,
not filled with words;
without an image, color
or theme.
(the saddest story--that unmarked leaf)

no meaning no reason.
to nurture and to guide,
to lean on or learn from.

nothing
to feed this blazing hunger--

the blackness of your pupils
is empty.
you don't know
what to long for,
what to dream of,
who to miss...
(someone you haven't met yet)

there's a void in your world,
I can feel it choke you.

nothing
to look forward to.

in this dark abyss, you ache.
for that unforgettable
sated feeling--of completeness, fullness,
like being whole...
(something you've never felt before)

you wish for that eternal shine;
like a part of you,
your element your soul;
warming you,
thawing through the frost
of your broken dead dreams.

hope springs, souring high,
to break that empty shell,
to ease that great soul from inside of you
out in the open--to let it breathe--
finally!

an idea an adventure;
to nurture and guide,
to lean on and learn from.

praying for something anything!
it will feed this dying hunger.

---

there's a light in your eyes,
I can see it shine.

something someone
can break the darkness.
find it,
embrace it,
blaze in that glory;

so bright,
that when the light floods through,
the only one visible
is you.

*(heap of ashes, kindled, into fire...)

Under a bold lettering of pinholes
  A night time sky cast in early essence
Lay - infog.the remains of a broken bell
  Hidden in a lost hum of silence,
   The first cries- a grebe or grieve..
For the time to rest our eyes is over
The blue starts to show again, slowly
Whats waiting in an envelope,
Fortune cookie type numbers odometer
Coffee
Our radio kicking back into itself
Folk take buses , trains, automobiles
Some walk- others sleep
And i . Breathe
And cough
Put my shoes back on
Come to a stop to-
Wait in line for a cigar
Go home and climb sore, not soar
Aching- into the only bed i long for
My dreams

Wake up
Wash up
Cook
Clean up

Attend class
Scribble notes
Speak up
And eat up

Organize
Sweep
And mop
Repeat as needed

Oh, monotony
You have found me
With your best friend,
Exhaustion

You killed my will to live
Imagination, all gone
Muscle memory keeps me going
Oxygen gives my heart a beat

I may as well be dead
My mind shuts off
The noises all gone
And good ol' monotony comes up to play.

Autumn night drive
we follow country lanes,
Singing Queen.
As, in the condensation
on the windows,
We write words
and draw shapes.

And through the lines
we have made
we glimpse
tree after, silhouetted tree
passing on by
when the sky,
Dark as it is,
Still displays
the very faintest hues
of orange at its base.

And behind the words
we have written
we see
mysterious lights
drifting through some distant field.
And I find myself
made strangely aware
of the way in which
the world has always continued
to breathe
and move and live,
Each night and day,
Far beyond the enclosure
of my eyelids.

Behind our seat belts,
We are still,
While the world moves around us,
We're coming from somewhere,
And we're on our way home,
What does that mean?

When we were in the city,
In the town,
In the streets,
There was a plastic bag
caught on the plank of a bench,
And a ball stuck in a tree.
There was a man wheeling his bike in the twilight,
There were walls and walls and doors and floor...
And walls with yellow white squares on them
That got smaller as they reached the sky,

I saw life in the squares,
A family ate dinner,
A man was on the phone,
A woman read a book,
And a man drank alone.

The faster we moved,
I watched their bodies blur,
They do it everyday,
What does that mean?

Are we all ******* blind?!
How did we all fail to see the
apocalypse in it's twisted occurance
Detinating life as we know it
All I see are Zombies
All that's left are zombies!
Look there! That girl walking
Missing half her life
Half dead-trapped
no real human left behind her eyes
Walking aimless to her desk
To her future
Look at that zombie over there!
Drowning himself in alcohol
Killing himself again
Just to feel alive
Though simultaneously
wasting...away....


I better do the same
Hide the life so I don't get eaten
and zombiefied myself
I must survive this apocalypse

Trying
        To

           Survive

moving forward & forward & forward

I have become a zombie.

I'm always surrounded
by any people
who never wanted to be happy
in their own destiny.

It boils in me
the will of the traveler
of wanting to leave
every moment

I've never been in other place,
except those in which I needed to be
– just for necessity... nothing else.

To Montreal I've never traveled,
but it must be better than here.
And maybe any place is that:
a refuge to the excess of monotony.

I have broken every rule with you
For we have not kept our hands (or our hearts) to ourselves

corrosion of the soul
happens slowly but surely
by crushing grind of monotony.

each day society tells me my
value is based on my function and production,
and little by little I am crushed by failing expectations
that are not my own.

my soul slowly corrodes into nothing, but
out of the vast emptiness, life emerges again.
I yearn to be free, and this time I bear my
wounds with honesty and dignity. I am
unashamed about my soul being free to be me.

I have value period, not based on function or production,
but simply because I have a spark of life within me.
a divine spark that gives brith to new life
within me each day, each moment.

When teasing fate
Becomes cliché

We live our lives
In ire to waste

We receive everything we’ve thought
Everything we’ve secretly wished for

Trying to break through,
Through death's door

It might be barred
From the other side
But I’m not sure