A chirrup beneath my
window syll
"Chirrupchirrup."
            
A Pipit goes. Café au lait
plumage quavering in dew
and wind.
        
Splayed on syll sublime
his songs he
sings.
            
My ears, freshwoken, hear
tender crescendo and I
arise

and start the
day.

No matter how many times I say her name
It still gets caught in my throat
Still holds insurmountable meaning
It doesn't just become three syllables
It becomes me crying cause I realize it's almost been 5 months since the last time we made love
5 months since the last time we kissed or even truly talked
And she is happy
And I'm still in bed, whispering her name
And hoping it becomes just three
Syll-a-bles.

if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either

You are the
         liquid sugar
I rub into
       my skin
soaked
through to my
pores so
deep within
on a cellular
level as I
gulp it down
swish in saliva
in liquid love
          sounds
washed through
my system
in textured
              spin    
you balance
out the thickness
of my insulin
           you
pique
          hot
energies
into blush-fused
                crush
swirling
endorphins
and hormones
in maelstrom rush
my cheeks
on fire,
ripe fruits
drip
          juice
I must
    breathe  
in staccato
to control
         this
  sluice  
But when I
get peak-high
and then
            *****
      so
           low
you harmonize
the taut,
        slick pull
of my
       undertow flow
It's just a matter
of a few
words, syll-a-
bles spoken
velvet-voiced
             cool
smooths
the rough      
of my
     broken
So please
        inject it,
fresh
into the river
of my blood
     Bring it over,
   hot sugar,
before  I
surge
   into
        flood

the cross trainer crossed me out

                                                      in favour of the

                                                               ­                   runner that I ran out on

(5/7/5/ syll count)
24th July 2012

Dropped a spanner on my toe

                Ouch...my toenail said

I need a joint to fix it

(5/7/5 syll count)
24th July 2012

This is the part
     where everything
                        changes.
This is the part
         like an orchid
                requires patience.
This is the part
      where the universe
                                    bends
                      ­¬                       and you fold
                                                               the paper
                                                        into
                                           flowers.
Cover me in chrysanthemums.
This is the part
        where our knees become inch worms
     under the table.
Cover me in dirt.
This is the part
      that   comes   on   slow   at   first
      then
      heavy
      urgent
      pulses
      rush
      through
      us
      adding
      impulse
      to
      injury
            manipulating
    our insides
              twisting
       folding
            contorting
  every nerve
            until they


RIP.


But the pieces don’t get rest.
This is the part
    where the lions roar
    like violets showing their teeth
    at the sun.
    They nibble the flesh
    without breaking
    the skin.
    It’s paper thin.
This is the part
    where I ball up my paper fists
    and wrestle with the tiger lilies
    while you remain at war with my tulips.
This is the part
    where we dig up the dirt
    and we ruin us.
This is the part
    where the dandelions B U R S T
    like supernovas
    and suddenly
ev-er-y
    syll-a-ble
           counts.
You said
    Everyone's b/ r/ o/ k/ e/ n in some way.
You said
    when you were young
    you saw the miracle of birth for the first time
    and you've been turned on
    ever since.
You saw life spring from the womb.
I think I saw you mesmerized by the way things bloom.
You tell me
     about your birds and bees
     like how getting your head rubbed
     at the hair salon
     turns you on.
Well, this is the part
       where I rub your head
       and turn you on.
This is the part
     where I see your dark side
     and learn the true meaning
     of the blue in your eyes.
This is the part
     where you flip me over
and tell me
"Don't stop."
I don't stop.
Why would I stop?
I can't
stop.

And
    this
         is
          the
             part
                 where
                        we
                            fall

  A

       p
          a
        r
           t.

Tell me you don't want this.

Tell me you don't want this
   and I'll leave this bed of marigold
and
    change
  my
      form.
Tell me you don't want this
   and I'll never hold your gaze
                                                          to­¬o                     l   o    n      g
                                       again.
Tell me you don't want this
     and I'll unfold myself from your side
     along with the paper flowers.
     You can take back the roses
     **** the daises
     but leave me the daffodils.
Tell me you don’t want this
     and our forget-me-nots
     will forget us
     and our bleeding hearts
     will bleed us dry.
Tell me you don't want this
                                  and I'll rewind the movie
                           play it BACK
                 from the beginning
         only this time
     we'll pay
attention.
     I'll silence the lions
     and put them BACK in their cages.
                                        I'll bend
                      the universe
         BACK into
shape.
But tell me you want this
and this will be the part
where we pick the paper petals
                                                  off  the
                                                           stem and
                                                             ­         watch them
                                                            ­                           fall like
                                                            ­                                    cherry blossoms.
                                                       ­          He loves me.
                                                             ­                   He loves me not.
                                                            ­         Forget me.
                                                             ­                       Forget me not.

Your ruby, such depth, deep red
      
          Too deep to fathom

                   So I drink it in and blush


(7/5/7 syll count)
17th July 2012

Pause, wait serenely

Your moment to emerge...now

Grasp, take it and run


(5/7/5 syll count)
15th July 2012

Walk the mile it takes

          To reach your destination

Never looking back

(5/7/5 syll count)
16th July 2012

Cry out, await the echo
              
     Of an unknown soul

Turn around and know their heart

(5/7/5 Syll count)
20th July 2012

Like footprints paved in
the snow in the driveway coat-
ed by fresh blankets
of white descending snow flakes
in the morning, I know they

are still there. Like the
trees bright with vibrant leaves fall-
en by winter and
flowers kissed by butterflies
replaced with dull grass, I know

they still bloomed there. Like
unexpected, unprotect-
ed surprises grow;
I will never forget the
sensation of cold gel on

my still flat tummy
or the clasp around my pan-
creas, six more weeks
of winter, it rains ******
red. Saturday. Life. Gone but
                                              
                                             I know. I remember.
                                             This was supposed to be a
                                             tanka but I have
                                             never been good at obey-
                                             ing the rules. I have not been
                                             good with losing you.
                                             Intentional, counting syll-
                                             ables, words stuck in
                                             Saturday, I touch my bel-
                                             ly, remembering you exist-
                                                                                         ed here.