in the morning, i remember her face
as she slept on my arm that had slept
all through the night with her
while i lay awake wondering;
where i was taking my life
where i was going to end up
where i was, belonging to the night.

the sun spanned her shoulder
through the cracked window pane
and split a beautiful ray on her tattoo
the bird, so colorful;
where i kissed her last night
where i missed her subtleties
where i knew i wanted to rest
where she was in her dreams, i couldn't contest.
she said love again
except this time i felt it go through me.
she said she meant it
and i felt her soul touch mine; exquisitely.
she said she wouldn't leave
and in the morning, stayed on my arm.
she said it was meant to be
and i knew she was telling not just me;
she meant this more than my cigarettes, coffee, and crullers meant to give me cancer.

your hand is your
friend. The hand
that touches you softly, as a band
rocking the pain. Fingers squeezing
as a little red accordion strike
as a black scorpion if someone lifts
the rock you're hiding under.

When you're the only
you talk to yourself. You're
the only ears that listen The prose
are dressed in suits and ties blocking
out your mother's cries.

When you're the only
you're lost in your head. Your teachers
complain you're out in space. You can't
paint a smile on your face. Your eyes glazed
as a honeydew. Your feet are crullers
that don't fit in your shoes.

When you're the only
you fit out. All the boys and girls
have brothers and sisters. You have
yourself. So, you create the scene
of vampires and witches that drink your blood
and dry the dishes.

Today—just today—inasmuch as
my whimsical desire is concerned,
accepting gifts and souvenirs such as:
maple leaves, breath of moose (I've learned

it's kind of good for being Canada-sick),
honey crullers or, for that matter,
a double-double. You've got to have a lick
of ice cream at... oh, I don't remember,

I forgot the name, just know that Bloor
is gracefully crossed there by Spadina;
and don't misjudge me as a boor,
but promptly ship it all to China.

Make sure to toss on top of that
iridescent vapor from Niagara;
it's not like I feel sad or mad,
but things will definitely shine gladder.

Breath of moose can go in balloons,
and vapor too can be encapsulated;
and after many Chinese moons
my birthday will get canadated.