The light quit working in the jukebox,
the melodies' surrender,
a commonplace extinction,
against the salt and the breeze
of your false Mediterranean.

The burden of your rational soul
in a world of extremes
has torn your spirit to tatters-
tatters littered across
your Toronto abode.
Divided amongst the heirlooms
and emptied bottles.
This desolation you
sought to translate
for the harmonious pulse
of the dial tone.

Hazy,
is this ancient mind,
a smoking fallout of
yesterday's parties
to be discussed over
lukewarm coffee
and cigarette butts,
while the shivering streams
and green plains become
commodified for a higher power.

Dan, my dearest friend,
I loved you
ferocious and freely,
fanged and supremely,
and as your mind coagulated
on a couch,
microphone in-hand,
I felt nostalgic for
your clumsy alcoholism,
and clumsier guitar strumming.

The white fog descends,
the city is hungry--
no longer can it expand.
Toronto eats itself
with you inside,
shall I write you a postcard?
Shall I kick down your door?
Shall I let you join the bones
you so beautifully alluded to?

Whisper, my friend,
amidst the soft croon of
the saxophone,
whisper, my friend,
of a Europe gone defective,
whisper, my friend,
for an apocalypse of sun
to release us all from
the white fog slowly burying
our Toronto.

I am full of memories
painted on our ceiling
when we were just two kids
and the rain wasn't hurting anyone

do you remember the smell of smoke
coming from the leaves our mother used to set fire to?
remember the November sunsets
when we'd play stupid games
and none of us was a winner?

remember how we used to sit in front of the fire
playing cards and drinking wine
we thought our lives would be like a smooth sailing on the ocean
yet here we are
miles away from each other
and the music doesn't sound the same
and our cards are missing
still no one is a winner

still
the smell of burning leaves wakes me up at night
still
we are apart
and the wine we drink daily
has no taste
and we keep on playing
even though our lives are like a wrecked ship
in the middle of an ocean that's always dark
we are still lying to ourselves
but deep inside we do know
the wine has changed its colour

and so did our eyes.

much  darker they are
much clumsier our fingers
much number the feelings

and
somewhere,
the leaves are falling
and they are burning
we just can't smell them
                       anymore.

They said you were slow and languorous
That live or die 'twas all the same for you
Untutored, they were the swine before the pearls
And were ignorant of the coals that fanned your passion

I was one of the daring few that knocked at your door
The lithe girl in you  was always there for the seeing
You had a shape made in heaven and a smile to match
And your blithe ways said nothing mattered that much

We learned much about the body and the force of allure
We filled our gaps with information as you filled your cups
We became clumsier and more oafish as your grace peaked
But we always knew how to worship your form and beauty

The years went by and we all grew up and spread afield
Try as I did to search high and low, of you I found no trace
Yet with ease I found your pretty face in the clouds of time
And the rain wept your name and kept it showering

Now the relentless years have gone swiftly past somehow
And pretty little girls and bashful boys have grown old
Is this you with the fading sight and the tremulous voice?
'Tis no matter, I know how to bring back that lovely lass

So, no matter what, you'll always be that voluptuous beauty
I don't see your spindly legs nor mind your frequent lapses
They don't know what they missed, these modern types:
Love with the taste of spring water that bubbled out of you

Into the cupped palms of my doting heart that sang a duet
With the crescendo notes of your  ***** and the quiver
Of the enchanted world sitting upon your dancing behind
These enduring images never fade or melt away

Thus, dearest God's masterpiece, you'll always be my girl
And I the boy electrified by your articulate eloquence
Ignore them when they call you a hag and a witch
They know not the feel of the bliss that never goes away

After the matter, he said he saw it like an old black-n-white
because I had said I loved Cary Grant films.
But I know now that he couldn’t have possibly
because he told me he hated classics.
We stood three baby steps away from each other
on that beautifully manicured stretch of green.
He smiled so widely and wildly,
seeing as if through a sleeping gas dream haze,
I, ever cautious, looked with clear, hard blue eyes
and scrutinized and analyzed until
the grass was jaded green and the blue sky
was smudged with laundry grey clouds.
He told me excitedly, in what he assumed
was a lover’s pur, that he had something for me.
I thought the tone was an aggressive command
and I snapped my eyes back from the splotch
of mud from my boots, and was horrified to find
that I was now a mile away from him.
How’d I end up here, and why didn’t he notice
I wasn’t where he was? When I asked after the matter,
he said with venom that he assumed I would follow,
like I always did.

He had pulled from his pocket a beating pink heart
and stretched his arm out to me, but I shook my head.
I can’t reach it from here, I really tried to let him hear.
I am no where ready to take that!
But he smirked with older superiority,
a grin I had come to loathe,
and brought his arm back behind his head,
like a veteran pitcher at the mound, and followed through.
But he was never in baseball, he was a speech kid in high school,
he didn’t know how to throw, and the wind picked up
that little pink heart like a paper plane.

I tried, I really did. I ran until my lungs ignited
with blood, pumped my legs until the muscles
fell off, strained my hands and fingers forward until they were as long
as red oaks in an ancient forest.
But it wasn’t enough. I was still thousands of feet
away from catching the weak little ball of emotion,
because I hadn’t played ball since I was fifteen.

The delicate little heart landed in this thick brown mud puddle.
On such a lovingly cared for lawn, why was there
a huge-*** mud pond?!
I frantically waded in to try to and help it.
When I found it, the heart was contentedly
sitting in the mud as if it had landed in
a warm kettle of chocolate.
I was sad to see it so easily mislead, and knew I had to return
because I knew I couldn’t clean this little bruised ******.

As gently as I knew how, I eased it out of the mud,
and stoically walked back to the boy
who had so carelessly thrown his heart.
Unfortunately, the grass was slicker than i thought,
and the sun was in my eyes, and I guess
I’m just clumsier than I thought, so about five steps away
I tripped and dropped the fragile little heart.
As the tender pink thing landed, finally it
and he noticed the state everything was in.
He looked down at the banged, muddy heart
and I watched in fear as his eyes filled up.
With quiet misunderstanding he asked
how could this happen? Why did you do this?

I must admit, I just can’t do displays of emotion,
so I told him I was sorrier than words could say
and as iron bars of guilt began to pile along my shoulders,
I turned 180 degrees away from him.
I felt his hand reach for me, but all he could grasp
was my rustling skirt, and I couldn’t bare to see him,
so I sprinted forward and let my dress rip to flowing shreds.

The air from his screams helped pushed me into a flight.
The sooner I disappeared, the sooner he’d take notice of his heart,
I kept telling myself this, praying for this.
After the matter, when I asked what he saw,
all he said was a pretty girl that dropped his heart at his feet,
and step on it, smeared it with her ***** boots.
I deserved the harsh words, I do know that.
This is no plea for the girl that broke your heart,
but did you ever think she might have really tried,
and it isn’t completely her fault? Sometimes she’s
afraid to see your name on her phone
because she can’t bare to see the beaten heart
she just couldn’t save.

These are the words you will never read.
You will not see them, feel them, or remember
the weight they add to the burdens on my back.
And the guilt. The shame slides down my shoulders
and falls like puddles around my feet,
scorching my ankles with the splash.
My emotions are bubbling lava, brilliant light,
alluring, engulfing,
destroyer of apathetic eyes (rolling ***** of white gush)

There are three words you will never hear.
"I love you" came first, when the bump grew bumpier:
little, softer tummy; deadly force.
"I give up" comes now in tiny exhalations from my
bigger, clumsier fingers than that which we lack.
I say these three words to myself until I stop believing,
and my tears stop falling and my lips stop smiling.
The most fixed point in the wall I find. And stare.
We have a contest, and, of course, the wall wins.
Blink. I blink. I do the worst, the expected.

I try again.

I try a thousand new ways, ways I planned
with alternate routes and "just in case" setbacks.
When we meet I extend my hands, and warm my smile
with round shiny eyes. The dimple peers through my cheek,
never shy, always ready for the man I choose again and again.

This time half of my body felt half of his as we stood
in the rain and in the muggy sticky late August air.
In vain, I grabbed his arm, whirled it in an air circle,
until his fingers released and he walked to his car.
I watched. He didn't look back. He walked and unlocked.
and steadily then swiftly drove away.

The clouds grew closer until night spread across the sky,
Music imprisoned my ears and my eyes refused to open.
The car remained on a path, even without my consent.

I walked into the arms of a black skinny creature that whined,
eagerly scratched my arms with her black nails.
She looked as worried as I actually lived, every day
in fear of failing my work, my hopes, myself.

I miss the girl that I once knew
The girl with hair blonder than dust
And cheeks rounder than apples

I miss the girl that I once knew
The girl with nerves of a wet napkin
And legs clumsier than spaghetti

I miss the girl I once knew
The girl who always did what she was told
And was always afraid to speak

I miss the girl I once knew,
That's all true.
But she grew up.
And I don't miss that little girl so much
Anymore.

Dry swallow these pills just like you did your pride
These hands clumsier than this manic heart of mine

I wouldn’t mind being your morning coffee
Sleepy, warm, against your lips.

I tried to be a flower
attempted to be a kiss
trying not to be disappointed because
I’m still only human.

We first met at Arlington Drafthouse on a Saturday night. You were dressed in clothes white as snow. After the open mic we shared a kiss and spent the whole night and the next morning together. I remember when you told me you loved me for the first time and I finally felt safe and wanted for a long time. Over the course of almost two years, we've traveled around Washington DC, took a spontaneous trip to richmond, and saw numerous movies from Elysium to The Imitation Game. When I was selling cars, we ate sushi twice a week; when I worked as a canvasser we shared pizza on your bedroom eating off of paper plates. I've made you feel irritated, loved, appreciated, mad, and happy. You've introduced me to countless friends and I've introduced you to my world of poetry and storytelling. I enjoy blowing your belly button and hearing you say, "eek." My family opened their arms to you and your family has cooked me dinner and given me gifts. Loyalty is the first word that comes to mind when I think of your pretty face. You're older and wiser than me and I'm goofier and clumsier than you. We've broken up in the sunshine and reconnected back in a thunderstorm. So I pray for the raindrops to come crashing down when you're hurt, so that I can dry the tears off of your eyes. Drinks upon drinks; beer, liquor, and shots we've shared with friends of all ages and nationalities and sexes to celebrate life and its beauty. I've broken promises and you've broken my heart before. But with each break we've come together even stronger in our bond and I thank my mother for teaching me to fight for what I desire. Remember going to see John Mayer at Jiffy **** and drinking bud light margaritas? Or playing tennis in the spring afternoon when no one was on the courts and being happy and sad on the weekends when tragedy hit on the the news broadcasts? How about me cooking you spaghetti because that's the only dish I know how to make. We've created a life together through memories and dreams and months of stories. You hate it when I snore at night and I hate it when you stare intently into your phone. Your heart is bigger than my ego and my drive is bigger than your fears. The time we've shared together is important and indispensable. I hope I'm a kind and generous person and above all a good boyfriend. It takes a lot to build a relationship and so little to break another persons trust. What I'm trying to say is I love you very much. And from the bottom of my heart grow better and more valuable as wine grows with age so do you.

every little girl is taught the same thing:
the princess only gets the happy ending if she ends up with a prince.
that’s what every movie tells us,
that’s how we think the world works.

so the first time you like someone, you’re trembling and hopeful
and you’re ready for the love story
you think you’ve been promised.
but the first time you like someone
is clumsier and less glamorous than you thought.
the first time you like someone, you’re fourteen years old
and he kisses you in a basement, not a ballroom,
and your palms are sweaty
and his gum gets in your mouth.
the first time you like someone
you stutter over dinner with his parents
and pretend that you like meatloaf.
he tells you “you’re mine”
and it’s the first time you realize
you are something other people can own.
however, the first time you like someone
it knocks you breathless when he tells you that you’re beautiful.
it is awkward and halting and precious
and it doesn’t last.

the first time you love someone, you are nineteen
and he isn’t the person you were expecting.
but the first time you love someone
is the first time you understand
the meaning of the word selfless.
the first time you love someone
you sneak out of your house in the middle of the night
just to see him again.
you can’t believe how much bigger he has made your heart, as if
your entire ribcage cracked open just to make room for him
and the first time you love someone
is the first time you really like your body --
because he makes new all the parts of you
you thought could not be loved.
the first time you love someone,
you tell him so next to his hospital bed
and when he kisses you it feels like
you’re in that ballroom you had always pictured.
the first time you love someone
your love will be genuine and passionate and
everything you’ve ever wanted,
but it won’t be enough to make him stay.