Spilt Wine

Start the night with wine

in my hair, on my dress,

in my stockings

brand new shoes

bare shoulder

and a few broken

apologies. I saw it

coming too,

and just watched it.

Kind of like life

that was yesterday.

Tonight,

now another bar

another jazz singer

singing the blues

under copper tiled ceilings

and feathers in her hair

you’d think it was suddenly

1920 art deco Paris.

But no,

it’s the house of Jazz

in Laval, Quebec.

Hanging with the girls

who sold my life away.

Do you pay the bill?

Cosmos and red chandeliers

blue bottine in the vitrine

and it’s a wonderful world

in here.

The only thing missing is you

with me.

It makes me cry

you’ll never see

what I see.

Not even pictures

do it justice.

Rita called me

she’ll be 20

minutes late,

god damn Montreal traffic.

It’s fine.

I’ll order another Cosmo

write a poem.

Listen to the jazz singer

and lament

you.

Advertisements

Date

I want this date to last more than hours

but you never even made it to the restaurant.

It is so fine with me, I would rather eat alone

and dip my fries in sauce and eat like a pig

and not be judged for using too many conjunctions.

I want you, I really do, but I am changing

every day into an evolved woman. Not yet

married, divorced, separated, cheated,

I am only a young girl wanting someone

who I can never have because then all

the morals written in my chest will be

broken. I will feel broken in this city

we can never see each other in. I already

see the future of Sundays turning

into every other day.

You are so close to my house

and even if you drive by

I will have aged like a dog.

You will have had a multitude

of women while I am hooked

on one life line. It is this way

for I drive my own car and

let no one guide me.

I know which walls to put up

and which ones to let you in

but remember a date is

just a time and place

when two people

either show up

or decide otherwise.

Either way, it’s a date.

 

 

 

 

Burns

Nothing feels normal

when you love with an ache

in your chest. a longing

that can never be fulfilled.

distance can be mathematically

calculated

it’s so easy to memorize the formula

of two cities

but emotionally inaccurate.

i started off with coffee but ended with vodka

i try to be good

but i think of all the ways to be bad.

especially with you.

i do hate the feeling

of never seeing you

and lost in illusions.

who knows if it will

happen again

quite so universally perfect.

we can plan it

but i will lose my mind

and no one can tell

i’m not  fine. i lost my innocence

a long time ago. you had

nothing to do with it.

best time to leave

for New York

is when you’re young.

as i did at sixteen

only i should have never

come back.

 

 

 

Black hole confessions

I fooled myself with false hope

that you would be there for me

in the middle of the night

as I craved Mcdonald’s at the

emergency room. Not allowed to

lie down here, not allowed to

sit there, wait for ten hours

as you watch your child in pain.

No light can escape this black hole

I find myself in. I smile but I have not

slept for days. It seems I am

in doctor’s offices more than

spas and gyms. I had another life once.

A star must have died

to leave me so peculiar in need

of your arms. I ate a big mac

in five minutes. I could have

kissed you in seconds.

 

This confession has been around

for centuries. I use it in every

lifetime. Did you not know

our paths crossed in 1903

at that farmhouse

in Niagara Falls?

 

I know it

was you. I dreamed about

our stars together

falling in a black hole

and never escaping

or finding light.

 

You feel my absence

but you are scared

how I can devour a galaxy.

 

She has some powers, you say to yourself.

 

No astronomers have

realized yet

the source

of how

extraordinary events

all lead to us.

 

I confess to you

as the stars witness

our disappearance.

Freedom

I wrote it on the beach

while staring at the ocean

but forgot to send it

deleted it somehow

and poetry faded into

the sand under my feet.

I hear what you say

but I’m nodding at the sky

it’s talking to me

so be silent.

listen. i told you to

stare and you did,

listening to the wind

and how the earth moved

with the clouds.

You breathe deeply.

she was the one

who never got

away from your thoughts

and she was the one

that reminded you

of me. no spells

required. it was

word play. tricks

that poets perform

on cue. i trust no one

but my lover

who knows every

mole on my skin.

every beach is different

yet the same,

and every man is you

and every woman

is me.

That freedom of

saying you’re mine

or I’m yours

or other lovely phrases

that confuse the horizon

are Purolator express

packages of signed poems

I sent to Pakistan, London,

Lebanon, and other exotic

places that poets meet.

Remember how we ruled

the scene with teased hair

and duMaurier cigs

no line ups, no hash tags,

no texts, no pictures?

You just wanted to

get next to me.

That was all

that mattered.

Now everything matters.

My shoes, my hair,

my fake promises.

Yet you see nothing

but what you

have always seen

and that is one

of the myriad ways

that I love you

in every song.

Sunday morning portrait, 2015

You may wonder

who I am

or who you are

or who we are together.

or apart?

leading highway lives

from the end to the start.

I saw you first

you were talking with friends

embarked on your high horse,

the room was hazy,

smoky, jazzy, of course.

Did you forget your desire?

At first glance,

was there a burning fire?

Were you in a poetic trance?

or a real life dance?

I am no one you want to love

been there and done that,

let my need float up above

blend with the sky

I fall out from

like a gift from the Greek gods’ nectar pie

here to ease your numb

feelings from life,

the blended coffee strife…

which to choose?

I forgot, you take no cream,

you never lose,

you are high above all the sports’ teams

the judgement call

you like to watch me fail, fall –

admit it –

nothing would please you more

than to hear me

moaning

like a paid whore

You do not have to put

your hands in your pockets,

I am free, I need no wallets,

no words of lies

please wear your secret lockets

and cover my eyes

in seductive disguise.

I should be asleep

but the words are heavy, knee deep

in your sweet-smelling mud.

I like it

when I am drowning

in my own flood.

Not any closer to who I am

just take my fucking hand

eventually we will land.

Sonnet #1

Let us think of a road far off our path,

where we could walk holding hands in full view

and not feel the hatred of other’s wrath

while the letters remain in my pocket too.

Love will be aflame along the grey road

and a subtle caress will become law.

On your back you will carry my full load

sensing the drive in me is purely raw.

The streets will be silent full of false hope,

while our fingertips travel each other’s skin.

If we walk away we will stop at the rope

reach the line that tells us we can never win.

Here is one last wanting thought for your ears

there never was a road filled with these fears.

To follow

In the centre of my universe I found you awake
up past midnight as usual
driving down highway 15 reaching
centre ville
and vinyl record stores on Bishop

so I followed you

all out of Bukowski again
twitter has made him popular
he says stroking his beard like I don’t know much
I shrug my shoulder and smile
don’t know much about that
I read him before indie
before coffee
and now I let him rest
he’s super tired
with your young generation and your attention span
you look familiar
he says
No I don’t
and I ignore him
before he talks about car crashes
National news
superheroes and writers.

I lost you on de la Montagne
where hotels will become condos with shops
and memories rubble.
I wanted to follow you
to a new uprising
but the ” manifestations”
students banging pots
took over the laureate prizes;
when I was a student I banged other things,
spoke about philosophy
across from Concordia
and made love with words
like I always do.
My hair touched my ass
my poems well hidden
and no one followed me.
How things change
yet still
stay the same on this
emotional ride lost on one way streets
so far from your world order
and parallel highways
but I’ll still follow you
anywhere
except in my dreams.

Vitamin Man

The sun hasn’t set yet

a slight yellow light

is reflected on your face

with dark tinted frames

you suck the bottle

of vitamins

to zen yourself

from the madness

and weekend chores.

Don’t look back

drive safe

and watch that inflated

ego

stare back at my

lovely fucking mess.

You are such a

charming daring

young man

too young for my old soul

that has seen many tainted

loves wave by me.

You look like I could

love you

subtly

then madly.

All this talk talk talk

with no bed in sight

all this need need need

with no friction.

Pass me the pills

the vitamin juice

the jazz in your pockets

and I will push it above me

on top of me

your head on my hips

your sighs on my lips.

We will make the devil

jealous

and no time

is perfect

no distance

too far

no cold

too frozen

for this heat.

Your vitamins are what

I need.

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).

IMG_7743