To Be Continued

Self-doubt
is my slow killer.
Fancy that running
into you at the grocery
store would make me
want you harder.
Babies cry and
daddies chase me
down aisles.
Sometimes I wonder
about all these strangers
loving me. They can
treat me better
or worse? Married
or single? But then
you leave me all these
trails to your soul
all these tracks to
your mind
and I blush
in front of the
pasta section.
I change every morning
into some girl
in the morning
who had a father once
and now visits
cold snowy
cemeteries for fun.
Death is not comforting
for me,
He was.

I want your arms
to wrap me up
like a warm blanket
I had as a child.
I will not take away
my gaze
from yours.
It is too early
in the morning to compete.
This is what keeps
me going today
and you
are always
to be continued.

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A Girl’s Story

She knows without a doubt
he can write
pick up the shattered pieces
of her heart
leave it in mid-flight
as all the parts of herself
others love
she hates.
Then her mirror reflects
her various misplaced fates.
Heavy snow
bears upon her
tree lights
dismiss her dreams.
Her head is messed up
the way he cradles her in bed
she continues to sing
nursery rhymes
no one is too old to hear
she has an audience for her worded tears
as Christmas nears.
At Indigo, she waited for the gift-wrapping

moka avec caramel salé?
Non, merci.
Carte spéciale?
Non merci.

Caffe latte and Ryan Adams
at the cash.
Should she give Starbucks more money than 10.00 for 2 coffees?
Should she? Shouldn’t she questions
damned on a a one way street.
Thinks about him removing her clothes
when ugly sweater parties await,
but in the middle of it all
right after her midnight date
and all the alcohol takes flight
she breaks all her promises
gives sin her best shot.
She wants a broken heart
no matter how jolly happy souls part.
Staring at her eggnog
she imagined tolls
midnight strolls
and there she is on the screen
with a book in her hands
naked on his bed
while his eyes
travel all along her legs.

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Missing You

I miss the parts of you
I know nothing about.
There is this void
that will forever be there
since you left

you disappear
reappear in my dreams

visit me from the dead
and Kiss me
ever so
softly.

The way you
slip and slide
through my thoughts
like the icy Montreal snow
that covers me up
as I make snow angels
my face looking up at the white sky
tasting snowflakes on my lips
imagining your kisses
reviving me
kicking me off of this pedestal
forever haunting my soul.

I love the sweet dessert
berries and chocolate
as we take turns
in its taste
and murmur
in each others’ ears
our scents mingling
between us.

I will stop now
for it makes you stumble
makes me humble
this growing forest
we’ve planted-
I look up at you
with my eyes
so slanted
with my heart so broken
missing the love
the hands
the pull
the way you care
the fine strands of my hair
in your grip
and the moment
we met.

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Cryin’

Been crying internal bleeding

from wanting the streets

to be cleared from heartache

but the plow came too late

and my love it’s bound up in twisted fate-

feeling it all

then nothing.

What is wrong with me?

The snow is heavy

breaking my fall

wanting to lean up against your wall

so you could kiss me hard

feel my tears as I crawl

as close to you as I dream

in sweet sexy words

that invigorate my senses

as all these questions people ask me

fly right by me

crash into my sea.

I want to float above

but the tide keeps pulling me under

squeezing notes

living on false hopes

wishing that all this thunder

inside me would collide

with yours.

Wrote my last word

and finished the novel

haven’t you heard?

My lover is calling me again

wanting to know when

I will give it away

but he doesn’t know

that I already gave it

to you

a long time ago.

059

Magic Hands

You play the songs

say the write words

get me inside out

understand my coffee stops

late night alcoholic binges

cigarette traps

eternal fights

then you throw me on the bed

and all is forgotten.

You know all the thoughts

before I speak

yet still there is always more

to want and need

as one kiss remains

surmountable

climbing up that hill

every day

to get to this

point

of magical hands

all over the flesh.

I never listen.

I chase my own demons

and entrap them

with my wit

as even they 

confuse my day and night

my night with flight

my pain with joy

as words build invisible

love affairs

so do love affairs

build sweet heartache

to continue the words

that save us.

077

Books not written

It will always feel

like you are losing me

as soon as you get too close.

Today I wanted to stay home

and write all day

and tomorrow

the same

but what silly thoughts

are these?

Trust me, that as soon

as you need me

it’s time to let me go.

Can you cut off

all the media?

All that noise?

I can.

I have.

I will.

I must.

Can you track me down

to see how I feel?

Can you close in on me

from everywhere?

Surround me with your strength

disarm me with your gentleness

the gap between the two

obscure

wide and approaching.

I see it from all angles

of this square

or that circle

or whatever you want to

call a shape within my mind

within a form

within an outline of my love.

For if you have my body

it comes with a soul

united.

Others can separate the two

discuss politics like sports

stir wet and dry ingredients

simultaneously

but I can save the day

with my frosting abilities

my inner sparkles that shine.

Soul and body

not that hard to disconnect the dots

that are invisible.

Reading Little Prince

again,

it appears life needs no explanation

while I was boarded up

with nails

until  you

resurfaced me.

Believe me, I have always

known how to walk into a room

full of people I know,

the trick is to do the same

with strangers.

I have always known

everything about me.

He reads my eyes and

that in itself is another

book

not written

(yet).

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lined shells

Almost fell asleep in the warm water
anti-stress relief
waiting for me
like a stone
lined shells on my shore
as I bury my head
to block out the sound
of the washing machine
the smell of apricot
and the suds evaporating
exposing all my flesh
to the surrounding ghosts
in flames
inside me
longing to get out
watching my every move
word
glance
sigh
orgasm
and waiting for me
to fuck up
over and over
as I slide into the darkness
underwater
where only mermaids
can understand
my need to escape
people
and their gemini faces.

Face me with your
early face
not your night one.

I walk like a woman
and I’ll look you
in the eye.
Straight on
like someone who stole
your heart
unannounced
uninvited
nipples chilled
heart aching
head aching
sore soul
from all the bullets
remaining tight and
sleeping with the silverware
wrapped around my heart
of gold.
You walk like a man
and I like the
way you read me
and never analyze
the mess I create
and the beauty I sow.
It is intertwined
within
each moan
and grace.

One time do not let my light
dissuade you
from my long legs
that run fast
and my young heart
that detonates
when you leave
me again
and again.

Glass doors

Got a ticket
for a train ride
I missed, as I sped
past the cemetery
and the battery-operated candles.
Did not pay the one-hundred and sixty two dollars
after thirty days
did not call in sick
found the gym shorts
at the bottom of the hamper
made a u-turn
because only he has the gift
of bringing me out
of the depths of my own hell.
He played me a song, rubbed
my neck, reminded me
of who I was, told me
he was sorry
and let the sunshine back in,
this sweet child of mine.

Then lo and behold
the black ice
met my black mood
collided and crashed
when out of nowhere
a salt truck
saved my life
where it guided me
back to the ticket booth
where I waited for you.
You did not show up
of course, you never do,
such is my life without you.
And all
That I sacrifice, give parts
of my soul every day,
to receive letters
from the lost n found
I try to guide
but their walls are blocked
and the more I give
the more they take.
And something has changed today
it’s in the air around me
in the name of my perfume
in the colour of my eyes
as I walk out glass doors
for the last time.

Old Montreal

The delight that is you
leaves me to dwell in your hands
for a while
reflect on your concerned smile
keep the distance real
for
in real time it means nothing
to others
who know naught-
how feelings
can eat you up alive
in a non-existent reality
how this reality
can determine another.
Daydreaming scenarios
written out in storybooks
drunk poems
with visuals
for poets like us
that need more
than mere words.
I could go on for
another more decade
begging zero needs
laughing at obscure art.
I am somewhere in that painting
my hair touched my waist
then
and my cheeks were fuller
pouring draft Boréal rousse beer
in the heart of Old Montreal
buying original art décor, café au lait peinture à la main
Jewellery, Indian soapstone
going to lofts
discussing art as the paintings
were lined up against the wall
windowsill
atop beds
and Mark & I came up with
great ideas
he illustrates my poems;
Kent showed us
how art and reality blend,
signed D-Tox.
Paid five hundred dollars
for a snapshot of my life
in another remote time.
Somehow loyalty
means everything again
in that rustic pub
where we met singers
artists, drunks
exchanging my portrait
for a night of drinking.
He drew a charcoal of me
he poured out his heart
and soul
in that empty glass.
I was always a good listener.
Too busy living to write
anything down.
Now it’s all hazy
like a lost dream
of
Youth.
At least I have the painting.

fate

you said to leave it to fate
don’t make a date
the time “who cares”
the meeting
well, who dares.
Ain’t it funny how
time knocks us down now
how New York
was a daunting force
to carry me like a running horse
to your steps
in the cab in Brooklyn
we giggled and cried and this losing win
you get in my head
for a second
you get in my bed
and I would reckon
God would be hated
we would be jaded.
Even Aphrodite agrees
and Apollo he decrees
that lovers like us
make great statues
cupid & psyche
writing the blues.
I did dance at The W
with a good-looking crew
smoking on the street
I thought I saw you
but my heart didn’t skip a beat
in Times Square
and fuck I thought
“Life is not fair.”
And another week rolls by
and more tears I will surely cry
for you know you’ll always be the one
I don’t play dumb.
Third time is never a charm
it’s bullshit, causing more harm
better to go see Andy Warhol alone
sit on the steps you call home
and feel your presence
in your absence.