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I want more of what I cannot have and less of what I have. It is always the poem of the day that brings me joy written in some notebook or on a piece of paper from an obscure poet that I research in the middle of a lineup of free coffee. Where do you come from? I tried to answer that question once but … Continue reading More

Funk

I already went to the cemetery yesterday to make my goodbyes a hello again. I would rather kiss tombstones than nothing at all. Eight years ago I drove to Sherbrooke street for morphine and here I am, lighting candles and adding more flowers my dad would have loved. He had all his words in place made me appreciate sunsets and opera singers. The moment I … Continue reading Funk