The Mountain

i have that pin you gave me when I saved

your life. it fell off the other day and I found

it under my bed. not really poetic. but

without it i feel naked. you came to me

when the day became the night at that

perfect sunset moment when the world

around me stops and I stare up

to forget the pounding of keys

and my heart.

i do not try to get on top of you,

you have a way of getting there first.

your wicked ways of wanting

your charming chase of chanting’

i got an A in literature and never

went to claim my award. no

university mattered as much

as the one you never went to.

i wanted to continue the idealistic

dream but money took over the

desire. as it always does, and i

still rock myself to waking up.

to sleeping. boxes of wine bottles

on kitchen floors. none of my

words reach you though

up in your empire of broken

dreams. you visit less and less

and forgot the melodramatic

way i enhance all the nails

on the wall. stop piercing me.

you struck me too far. no

distance is far enough. no

steps slow enough. you will

catch me one day when i

least expect it. as it should be.

no expectations or careless

imaginations. greeks crashing

the markets and democracy

the epic revolution. it’s in our

blood to see further. despise

the enemy, with empty pockets

and ghosts of the army past.

no one ever forgets history.

i’m going to the mountain,

because that is what we

call Mont-Royal, there’s

a word for all the insiders

that the outsiders claw at.

a few speak them.

a few know that guitar riff.

but most doubt their own

heritage. or wave it off.

check your veins.

you’re alive.

hell is near.

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