i woke up to the voices again
after all that drinking and St-Henri parking
in front of the usual side streets
with bearded hipsters
open door lofts
stolen dreams. Coming out
of Cayenne and Pepper
sexy shoes and leather.
i don’t know what i was
thinking when we had those
shots, those drinks,
wine, and i didn’t smash
into you at the street
corner, looking like
quite the classy whore,
there was some white lace too
enough of it to want to see
underneath. no more questions
about my ass
my poems
just listen to my voices,
or ignore me.
it’s what you do best.
i ran out of cream
have to always catch myself
as I fall. my arms
are comforting
my words free me,
it’s the only way
to breathe from the place
you make it hard to breathe from.
what distance? you’re here,
what time? you’re on…
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