the moonlight is pouring into my room
it vanishes—i weep,
a bloodborne obsession
the moonlight is pouring into my room
it bathes me—i weep,
cool wind aches my skin—

Paradise, 2018

summer nights—cold soul
drunken anecdote
the flow of ink so delicate
to massacre the old for the new

winter morning—warm hands
littered streets
the sound of your vowels and consonants
just the right consistency

chiseled gravestones—life in your eyes
sound of footsteps
the burn of your last words to me
inverted and sweet

the universe owes us no due;
the six minutes i treasured you—

Paradise, 2018

There is fire above the neon
Their shine and burn so eloquent yet brash
I am trapped beneath Fremont Street
and I hear exodus—

I am trapped beneath Fremont Street
My coffin is lined with casino carpet
The embers of cigarette ash
Burn wild within me

I want to move to Sahara Avenue
and live amongst the cracked asphalt
So I can catch a glimpse of
The Genesis I am missing

So next I am under Main Street
where the sweltering desert meets
the diminished pavement;
the metal statues that hold blinking lights

I am trapped beneath Fremont Street
As I gaze into the deep, wide Mojave
Oh, Deuteronomy, it is I,
the one you so eagerly seek!

Paradise, 2018

Abandoned in every manner
I sleep in a shallow pool of blood
Every correction possible made
Clarity never came at such a price—

Between loans, loss and black livery
My mission was clear
From obsession I rose again
But when will I return to ashes?—

Familar visions I found solace in
Sent familiar fear through my veins
Created only from a life of necessary impurity
To create the new dogma I now adopt—

I stand before what I once rejected
With no choice but to embrace it with open arms
And in that I retreat again
So that I too shall return to the dust I once was—

Paradise, 2018

I

I still exist in your symmetry,
In your crystals, in your lines
There is a secret history;
A passing of marble and bronze
I leave my room and here I am,
Surrounded by the fake daylight
Memory still exists on the most
Aged asphalt and white plaster
Weighed by a sadness older than age itself
As time sags their wooden frames

Then there the fire begins
It burns with fury and rage;
My artificial paradise departs from me
As I gather what I can from ash
They remain unamended and raw
In their original, solid state
I begin to mark each line of sweat
The strands on my head now aflame;
Fiery hands remove all of me minus heart
Left with my frail bones that rattle, alone

As my spirit departs the scorched crust
I dust away at my improvised grave;
I carry myself to the edge of time
Vanished, no longer to be found.


II

The quietness after a harsh panic
Paints the ordinated New Age
There regrows the willows where
We are off to sleep;
I mix the soil with our love
It grows and grows and grows;
Their strands a brilliant green
It comes and joins me
My hair becomes the willow
Where I still hear you, asleep

There I flee to the ocean
Your memory amongst the particles of salt
The water’s ephemeral substance
Their fluidity draws me in
I am drawn in by the cool water
My skin slowly becomes blue;
My eyes replaced with worn, ancient shells
My hair a bundle of slippery kelp
I molt in the clear, wide expanse
As you consume me

And now in the darkness
You rejoin me again on the sea floor;
Again, grows the willow
The marker of our joint grave.

Paradise, 2018

we bleed unto a frozen tundra
alone, in the brazen cold
i feel your final warmth by me
which makes passing all the better—

Paradise, 2018

i am consumed by your skin
as you ask me
“isn’t this what you wanted?”
yes, my love, yet—

Paradise, 2018

now living the better part of my life
where you are no longer mine
my heartbeat an incomprehensible song
driving the words from my lips to your ear—

beyond the guise of my poetry
i, too, live a second life
where you and i can disintegrate
our grave a bed of peonies—

there, too, are third and fourth lives
where you are all apart
despite (our) best efforts
i christen the memory of five and six—

my words cannot bring you to life;
the way they did before—

Paradise, 2018

I catch a glimpse of you
Through what’s left of that bottle—
Flavor—nothing I’d ask,
The burn and grimace still the same—

Your inverted image slips away
So tender, innocent and new—
The shade of the dangerous liquid
Painted you so tall and golden—

And there I continue and drink;
Trying to get a taste of you—

Paradise, 2018

O the woe that lay upon the streets
of the foggy town of London—softly
masked in the air of excitement, the
lives, the deaths, the things, O
their beauty, everlasting beyond them;
white wisps that decorate the edges
of the sordid streets

Vision is illuminated in two, four eyes
One looking, one staring towards it, O
the magnificent ocean in its might;
the destroyer of worlds lay with it,
the creator of the endless night

The sun has lost its battle to the stars;
O, those stars that sing, that cry at the
wreckage below—

“We weep,” they say in its weakened glow
The wisps forming now over sacred clouds
“Begone, O light!” cries the creature below
“Begone, O thing of death upon me, glowing
upon my translucent cape, begone!”

Away and away, the sun mourns its loss
of the sweet ivy that grew upon those walls
“Begone, thing of the night!” it cries in
its post-apocalyptic voice—O a cry not
to be reckoned with in any time nor place

There lay the victims below the bereaved
and lower and lower live they—O, the
horrid undead, the undead that stop
that force of time, beyond the pavement,
beyond the stench, they lay

“Get hence, vile animal,” say they, carrying
their voices over the sound of the wind
O that sound that leaped over the mountains,
A word that shall be the last sentiment of
the living dead, a word spoken from beyond
the milky clouds: “Begone!”

I was front row to all your playful crimes
You saw me dissipate into the distance;
I wish you had ran after me with feverish want
Your harmful grip my favourite fading colour

"Life isn't fair," you said, though your mind was faithful
Though it wasn't god you believed in
You believed in what wasn't yours
Feeding on the sweet flesh of envy

We walked every universe together
Our undetermined destination approaching
I wish I could walk sixty-three more
But I couldn't find it in me to ask you for even one

Will you join me for this party for one?
Your mind hazier than old video
Your heart only an arm reach away
I will keep in touch

Paradise, 2018

I had always wanted to secure a place in your heart
Although you never gave me the keys,

I had always wanted to envision us together
Although you never handed me the camera,

I had always wanted to dream of you
Although you kept handing me the coffee ***,

I had always wanted to you hear what I had to say
Although you never turned on the stereo,

I had always wanted to see you again
Although you never left your apartment,

I had always wanted to know your favourite colour
Although you always wore black,

I had always wanted to be your future
Although you said you only lived in the present,

I had always wanted to stop
Although you had always given me the green light,

I had always wanted to impress you
Although you had never let me take the exam,

I had always wanted to live for myself
Although you continue to exist better than anyone else,

I had always wanted to die
Although you saved me for another day,

I had always wanted to live
Although you we’re constantly throwing the knives.

Paradise, 2018

the white of your eyes polished;
blade, so perfectly placed
as i beg you to take me;
release me from this existence

I stare, on my screen,
A grid of aligned numbers
You’re just two taps away
But I cannot reach you

Alive is the burn in my throat
I drink, hoping to forget—

“Please leave your message for…”
Says the machine on the other line
I try to use my best words
Which can no longer come to me

Paradise, 2018

i am a ghost
watching you with each passing hour
they fly so quickly
yet they feel the longest by you—

i am a ghost
my grip reduced to an ice cold breeze
i hold you in my arms
and i feel nothing—

i am a ghost
i watch your dreams come true
as i lull myself to sleep
your warmth a false façade—

i am a ghost
i tell all my friends
how happy we are together
i think they have finally discovered my madness—

i am a ghost
and when you become one too
i will be waiting
to break away from chains—

that have kept me away
from you
for so long—

Paradise, 2018

i wrote for you today
i abandoned my moss covered legs—
i ran as quickly as i could to you
and i wrote down so many things

i hope to see you soon
i miss that tired groove in your voice—
will i see you again
have you heard this pretty song

i wrote for you today
because i abandoned you—
not because i wanted to
but to bring light to truth

you left me
i abandoned you—

i will leave your door
your wooden frame
your poured foundation
your hollow garage
your quiet empty halls

a knock will come
it will be me at the door
my walls my wonders
my winters my words
i shall age just as they

i will disappear into
your stucco your sheets
your couches your a/c
your wine your books
and it will truly be me

The rich kids line up
to receive capitalist communion;

The poor kids line up
strangled by their holy binding—

Henderson, 2018

I traverse the somber night
Gone; alone with the wind—
The music that is your voice
Guides, aimlessly, amongst the concrete

And in this aimless state
I try to occupy myself with
The sound of pedestrians,
Trains, buses and taxis galore

But you still remain distanced
and I—infatuated with steel—
Reclaim the civility of New York
To keep for my own—solitary

And in my selfish practice
I find you, beautifully alone—
Depraved of myself,
And devoid of your own—

Paradise, 2018

When I find myself entrapped
Amongst the glass walls you built
I find that you are just on the other side
I want to shatter and break and destroy
I feel that old feeling in my throat
As it also begins to freeze my heart again
I bang against those clear walls that bind me
Where you are just an armreach away
But even then you are ignorant of me
Oblivious to the way I aim to serve you
You are the air I breathe and the thing
That still bridges me between life and death
I am under your complete, total control
Emotionless, you watch from the beyond
As you admire your creation and your ****

My skin stretches into
the catacombs of California

My eyes, they watch,
over the plains of Missouri

America, where are you—
My lips are locked
with my memory of Connecticut—

North Las Vegas, 2018

I never got to see you again—
Well, I still do,
Just not in the usual sense,
No longer do I catch the gleam of sun your eyes.

But that doesn’t matter anymore—
At least I thought it didn’t,
It is odd and scary to think of you in such a way,
but I thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Oh, but it is that place of sadness that defeats me—
It is quiet and your thoughts live there with me,
Where I wash away your sins from my back,
And where I learned I am nothing without you.

You become one with my own sins—
Where I tried to justify yet you would not listen,
It wasn’t intelligence that you sought,
It was just sweet nothings.

Gems, so precious they are—
Here in the abandoned alley where I would wait,
Where I would hear your voice coming from my phone,
“Hello?”—You’re still there.

And though I still ache for November,
Still, I am alone in the pale, grey summer morning,
Metal and concrete chills me to the core,
Three beeps—You’re not there.

Paradise, 2018

there are some things i wish i knew
about you and the way you thought;
the way you made me your plaything
under the guise of me sinking into you
becoming; transforming—

i took you to my favourite place on earth
where we braced the snow and i
talked about the paintings we saw
and i never revealed the way
you reflected the beauty encapsulated
within them—

the same birds:
flying + singing; undermines
the epitome of bad sleep

the same fan:
cool + loud; makes me
ponder the state of bad sleep

the same room:
quiet + messy; walls moving
from the edge of a drunken night

calm, down a tired path
walks the poet, amazed
by earth and sky; more
bountiful and abundant
with its green sheen
separated by concrete,
brash and strong in its
indifference; where it
mends the wounds of time
and is resilient against
the aches of oblivion

and at last, i leave you
because i have failed you;
no longer shall i see your eyes
catch the sun in such a daring pose

Paradise, 2018

She wears the worn lives of her past,
It graces her skin, so delicate and rare—
Though still, she moves elegant and fair
Her hinderance still her most punishable trait—

you dissipate faster than the stars
that shelter themselves at dawn;
but compared to your eyes, my love
the stars are nothing in comparison

An alusive light that enters
The windows of a jetliner
A pack of wolves strapped in
And ready for takeoff

And I—amongst them, their own—
Fly to an unknown destination
There I sit—reclined, yet tense—
As the flight weighs on my soul

The howls overtake the aircraft
As the moon arrives and makes
Its sultry—and swift—anticipated entry
But there I see no more stars

They vanished—one by one,
Who am I?—Who is manning this
Aircraft—and I wake,
To a cup of coffee and a biscuit

I have landed—that at least,
But no amount of luggage
That passes by my aged eyes
Are mine—yet all yours

I look frantic—as I seek you,
But then I remember—
As you vanish in the distance,
Your memory is all I brought with me

Paradise, 2018

the last fleeting days of summer
surround my restless soul
my psyche sways softly
to the hum of my manic schemes—

sixty-seven degrees sunset cloudy skies
with a chance of contrition
i line my coat with the pieces
of your cashmere heart—

Paradise, 2018

Getting out of the endless cycle
is what drove me to get out of it

I never saw myself as qualified
though some said I exhale excellence

I had never understood beauty in myself,
though I had always seen it as a possession of the envious

To perform in the language you speak
was to become my only goal

To sacrifice happiness for the fading scent of lilies and matches,
to throw myself in an abyss for the last time.

Paradise, 2018

We found the back entrance
To the elusive known-by-all discothèque
Its entrance swarmed by the two bodies
Driving for the ******* who didn’t believe

“Welcome back,” said the hardened voice
His breath drawn beyond tobacco
The rain of bullets, metal and lifeless
We have never been here before

Hell is still just 14 miles away—

from afar you watch on a lounge chair propped
against one of the moon's many misshapen craters

quiet dawns pass by disguised by the night,
silent and barren in its tired, broken embrace
twenty million steps away from a new day

the moon ponders its silent devotion to the sun,
where you sink in the pool made from its tears―

the empty shopping mall
that we both now occupy;
dismantle—slowly—the lights,
succumb to its tender darkness

the hollow shells of money making
now reduced to bitter nothing;
run—tirelessly—through them,
their youth fleeting; long departed

I hear your calls underground
The sounds blur the background
No Dante, No Virgil
Just you and the rest of your entourage
And you talk about how quiet it is
(“You’d love it here”)
But you won’t give the intimate details
Of how you’re spending eternity

No more will the sounds of gambling
Ravage your tormented soul
It’s less than the felt and dice
And the corner cages and sick drinks
That you spit right out

You haven’t responded to my letters
You wouldn’t dare touch them
So where exactly are you?

I recounted my steps to Hell and back
And swore I saw your shadow sway—
Just like it did when it caught my eye at the steps
Against the flame of some broken fire
Where its glow hid your darkness
Expertly drawing you to me
Against my belief, against my will
Our souls met amongst great surprise
Transcending worlds, fire, space—

And most important of all—
The best years of our lives

I’m tired of writing about you—
And it said in the candle’s dim glow
That unearthed those revealing cards

That you’re somewhere out there
On your way back to me.

I got out of the car that dropped me off at your apartment at 6:16pm and its grey outside and your apartment was a darker shade,

I felt so free though I felt so confined within the tiny space,

I wanted to leave the area but I didn’t want to leave you,

I have so much work sitting on my desk back at home but I prefer to just dwindle through the sheets rather than do actual work,

It is 8:32pm and you are making me coffee and you ask if I like cream and sugar, I like both and you knew this, but you asked anyway,

I asked for only sugar, and I stared at the circle of brown-black liquid beneath me, catching a slight glimpse of your reflection,

As I sipped, you asked me about my plans and my thoughts on everything from the Kama Sutra to my favourite shade of green —forest,

It seemed almost customary for me to ask for another cup of coffee, but I did so anyways,

The grey atmosphere made your eyes look duller than before, but it never failed to describe them as glistening in my diary every night,

It is 9:45pm and I miss you already and I haven’t even put my coat on to leave,

It is 9:46pm and I don’t want to leave,

It is 9:47pm and I find myself running out the door,

It is 9:48pm and I am freezing,

It is 9:49pm and I realize I have ****** up again,

It is 9:50pm and you tell me to stop checking the time that it won’t making things go faster,

It is 9:51pm and you tell me you’re not mad,

It is 9:52pm and I am back inside,

It is 9:53pm and I don’t ever see myself going home,

It is 9:54pm and I realize you are still right there next to me.

Paradise, 2018

I always told myself that I had wanted to “go away,” it really didn't matter where, I just wanted to go away,

You told me I’d find that place and that I’d like that place but I didn’t actually want to leave because I knew I’d leave you,

I’ll always remember the night we made the decision. The decision to stay together forever. It seemed like ages before I knew our separation was inevitable, my tears giving me the first real indication of such,

Though I had made those last two situations up in my head they seemed so real because you were in them,

Sometimes I’d imagine that you were mine and that I could cherish every inch of your skin,

Arriving home is so difficult sometimes because I look out my window everyday hoping you’ll walk by,

Even if you didn’t even know it was my house just that glimpse would be enough to fill my heart for eighty-two lifetimes,

I wish I was as good as you at this. I really do,

You eat confidence for breakfast, your bleak outlook on things sometimes reminds me I’m not the only crazy one,

You make me feel sane and you make me feel valid and you make me feel more than anyone has in the midst of what I always thought to be just me being insane being depressed being every label that has been crazy glued to me since the day I was born,

You make me feel like it all makes sense for once,

You make everything feel fine, like everything is going to be okay even when it’s not,

Like I said, I wish I was as good as you at this. How do you do it? Please enlighten me,

I just want to be you I want to breathe you I want to see you I want to hold you I want I want I want,

Even though it had always been about you I always wanted to be you,

I wanted

Toronto, 2017
(for N)

quiet clusters of thunderstorms
scattered around a blue blanket

ships sank at the call of the voice
they cried out in their crashing
against the waves of (now) utter doom

sinking to the bottom of the seafloor
to wither away; untouched by light
they go and go, away from now

to be remembered in
another time and place

you live amongst the shadows downtown
where we met and hopelessly belong
where out youthful spirits still run free
with reckless abandon—where the
memory of years past seem to merge
with the way we see each other
less and less—forever

I witnessed you spend the same amount of money on the same amount of things everyday, finding yourself more and more enamored with your capitalist obsession,
    To find yourself in a more peaceful position without said obsession was blasphemy, though I had found that in my discovery,
    You were able to live without it, though you were obsessed out of your own satisfyingly unique pleasure,
    Oh light, what have I done without you? You have spoken to me from the grass I step on to the grass I smoke,
    I found myself in the shadows day after day, longing for your calling though it had been there the entire time,
    Oh darkness, how I have found myself so familiar in your arms, your caress uniquely yours like a blanket made of a thousand dreams,
    Darkness, the perfect friend and enemy in my times of need, propping itself up and coughing all night long, never letting me reach the pinnacle of sleep,
    From the last revolutions of a record to the dimming light of a candle, oh darkness, where are you now?
    I have alluded to your presence only to be shattered into oblivion and thrown into the ditch of a forever-schemed insanity,
    To those who believe my notions saying it will get better, to those who say they are the inventions of my own,
    You, darkness, oh sweet, sweet darkness,
    You are the last touch of reality I have in the world, the sweetness and innocence of light long and forever perished,
    From the connections made in hell to the pact we made in the woods one winter evening, it is all there between us,
    Oh darkness, who shall I call to next? To whom shall I give the grief and burden you carry, only to siphon it back to me during every living night,
    Oh you, my sweet darkness, I have never longed for you more.

    Paradise, 2018

I see you in Chicago,
where I first saw us, apart, in the future
I see you in Chicago,
where the film was shown a hundred times
I see you in Chicago,
where everyone asks where I’m going and I can’t seem to rip the words of my tongue,
I see you in Chicago,
where the endless roadtrip of drugs, alcohol and endless fantasy drove us through the unwise streets,
I see you in Chicago,
where you didn’t mind the mosquitoes of time biting into your skin,
I see you in Chicago,
where innocence and comfort meant nothing but bribery,
I see you in Chicago,
where you collapse into my arms again, exhausted, at the foot of my bed in the endless summer night.

they leaped towards their hopes
and towards solitude! towards the
fleeting life that awaited them! forward,
unbound by the restraints of time! to
think, to bond, to love, to cry!

all the time in the world couldn't
seize like the words of carpe diem
that saved them from their youth!
that transformed their lofty dreams
into reality; reality into righteous pain!

sitting, revealing and absorbing
the quietness of a spring day in
the yard you grew up in
growing and dying like the plants
that surround your overgrown youth
that you can’t seem to let go of
equivalent in size to the universe
it heaves, begging for release

you’re still not entirely gone
from those chambers of hearts
whose walls you tore down
(at least not yet.)

Fake romanesque paintings
Columns so bold, yet hollow
Lights, signs, storefronts
They all paint my city
So cryptic and plastic—

Where small plastic chips
Make and break you—
Where big brother watches you
And your hash-lined pants
From all 5,182 cameras above

Home, a place not like a home
Where the masses flee their constraints
And drink, and shop—
And where, here—
They play the most danergous game

there are times
where i want to strangle you;
watch the life leave your eyes
my reflection their final showing

there are times
where i want to worship you;
witness you upon the stage
our love flourished yet aged

there are times
where i see your blood on me;
a negative seeping crimson elixir
that i wipe away from my eyes

there are times
that i remember its all in my head;
i feel your blade enter me
and its you not me wielding it—

Back to the quiet tide of yesterdays ago,
That ******* in you I swore that I forgot
Comes to plant a kiss on my cheek;
There I go, sinking back into you

You were more than a set of songs
Or poems I wrote when I was drunk
Caught up in those quiet moments
Remembering how it was all taken away

I still live in that coy, sensitive side of you
That seemed eat away at young souls
Lost to the gleam of your simple words
Which attract and make me a part of you

stop here—meet the snow
and the premonition of the old
the young the beautiful and the
secret desires that shape us

be it the people the means
the drugs the drinks the leaves
that blow past your favourite
pair of shoes worn like old souls

through the irony that built
the strange sunday we made
yesterday out of the empty
glasses and bad receipts
that tell the rest of the story
that we confined to the inner
depths of our intertwining