She woke up

The morning is taking away
all my night powers
my prowls
my inner growls.

Take my tiny hand
squeeze it, pinch me
on this snowy land
make me real
hence, all that I feel
turns inside out
upside down
wrong side up
I’m a fragile box
handle with care
keep the descriptive words
coming
need their existence
like water now.

Chasing me was not so worthy
my gaps are enormous
you should flee
before it is much too late
for bloody undeniable fate
to make us one.

I can not look back
at age and rage
and every single page
I wrote.
I am feeling alive
along the train track
with that song you played
blaring down the grey street
reflecting my weak heart beat
leading me straight to you-
all the darkness
all the light
all the tragic loss
all the epic flights
landing close by your door
to knock on number 605
before sunrise
to see the exact colour of your eyes.
All this means something right now
and that is what matters most
anyhow.
Not asking but telling
(as she wakes up in the middle of the day).

My Assignment

Is the day over yet? How

I want it to be so over,

this damp cold day

how your words are on

constant replay.

My theory is:

I’ll meet you in the bedroom

in the backseat, deep in the night

on the hood of a car

in broad daylight

on the pool table

after we locked up the bar

meet you at 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

any time we need a fix.

The paragraphs are:

kilometers become steps

on a street

a drive becomes a walk

in the forest

a pre-dinner meet.

Catching up, I need catching up.

Breaking up, I need breaking up.

Your hands in mine (or theirs)

or his or hers.

Take me off of that list.

Take me off of that pile.

I might want to live in constant denial.

I might want to wait to find my own dial.

I have my own classroom to teach

I have my own lessons to learn

children to preach

but then you throw me a fish hook

in the middle of my day

and I bite.

I like your stars

your flowing river traps

you like

my late afternoon naps.

Conclusion:

Don’t analyze a poet

I believe nothing

until it comes from your lips

the next is just a story

unfolding.

I know how a poet thinks

blinks

drinks

I know how we confuse

reality with dreams

dreams with reality

stories with broken seams.

I know how artists

stare at the sky like pornography

erotica, read it like literature,

I know how I go out of my way

to step on crunched leaves.

Do you?

I know how music

is my muse that weaves.

I’m not that young and naive

not that blind to love

but I’m tired of all the pretense

the shaded color of my fence-

I can come to you

you can come to me

we can come to each other

right above the sea.

Did you grade me yet?

Am I a good pet?

I am too old for games

just write me something

that will blow me up

into flames

until I’m a ghost

and you bend at my grave

remember the walk

the talk

the skin

the breath

the scent

the way we fit so well.

I’m a poet

dramatic/visual/erotic.

How did I do?

Your version

I think your version is my favorite love poem I’ve read. I think you captured the moment far better than I ever could. I let my tears show me the way, but then the song Take Me To Church plays and I get trapped in my mind. I want to give you all of me on a silver tray and ask you to be gentle and tear away at me. I think you are a true gent from a time long gone and a lost generation. It’s not in the way you held my jacket, or the way your eyes slid up and down my body, but the way you held it in that drew me in. I can’t do justice to any of it through a poem, or a story, but I will try. I think that attraction exists to pour out the demons to one another; the dark, the light, the in-between blurry parts. I could be playful, silly, spontaneous, strong, and

you may think you have me pegged me, and that’s when

you haven’t

but it’s weird how every day I wake up and I could feel differently, except not really for you.

I sleep and wake to you.

I turn the sheets inside out for you.

I think you can meet me half/way or all/the/way or no/way; I think you have me confused with someone else, someone who you’ve met, but mostly I think you’re just as shocked as I am that we are actually kind of normal in a place where that rarely exists.

Distance

I may have seen you
in a dream
or maybe it was not
as it would seem
distance plays tricks
on the sunset
time passes slow
when we bet
on it
words disappear into the vortex
of its wires
leaving behind a new set of fires
erupting inside on the drive home
creating scenarios that roam
in other realities
far from this one.

Distance is a shadow
that lurks in its silence
lures you into its domain
invents a name
a duet of some sort
a slide of metaphors

to break down each others’ fort.

It has a way of deciding your fate
can’t do this can’t do that
love evolves, transforms into
hate
until that day
when distance is a foot away
inches, this tempestuous day
and it is no longer the barrier,
but the glue
as you see right through her light blouse
and she sees behind your sunglasses
this notion is just another word now
as both your lips
taste what distance
flavour makes.

Your arrival

Your words set me on fire

wake up and sleep to them

catch a bus with them on my fingertips

hold my hips firmly and kiss with them

all like a downpour of rain on my wet skin

breaking all the barriers from deep within.

It is a rush of sensations in all the right places

a blur of the faces

in front of me now.

It is how you are with me when we are together

and apart

that matters most

even when

at times I feel like a ghost

you can carry on like my host

until you open up my windowsill

and let yourself in

to cross your legs at my show

the way I bend, the way I glow

and you watch so closely I fear

that you will hate me and leave me

so I stand clear.

All my doubts piled up like laundry

all your songs inside my head’s playlist

pounding out anger with my tiny fist

letting out poems at red lights

producing thoughts like blinks

motivating strangers with cute invisible winks.

And the night it comes and goes

your melody, it grows in the Fall

you try so hard and I collapse

spin from exhaustion

dramatize my life,

examine the point of a knife.

It’s all in my head

and the stories come out in my bed

as I stare at the ceiling’s dull color

and mark my state as semi-dead

but then you arrive with a book

to steal my heart again and again

when you see me running and counting to ten.

I don’t even care what the book is

you just bring it to me

and that alone

is what sets me free.

heavy

at times I think you see me

when I am no longer there

our hearts grow heavy

you used to love me

when days were warmer

and nights were colder

odd thoughts about needles

and skin

falling into my thoughts

light raindrops in deep nights

with gaps

strong enough for me

big arms to envelop me

sweet words to whisper in my neck

your load is the perfect size

rolling inside me like thunder

it is explosive (this kind of lust)

words and beauty

truth and lies

strength and weakness

and me and you

ready to dive

into the icy waters.

Driving around the freeway

new songs

new aches

old friends

full of mistakes

sorry to break your heart

I never meant that

yet you knew

I was grasping

seeing things that were

already gone

building kitchens

and writing love songs.

You’d like me to go on forever

sit at my favorite place

and write another story in a month

imagine the lines on your face

or not

the way the words made you hot

but please leave me

I want to create my own melody

far from your eyes

under no disguise

can’t you see I’m pretty real

or unreal

or whatever the fuck you want to make me be

just never truly free.

September Poems 3.

When you are that close

I hold my breath.

I wanted to leave

a story full of poems

for your closed eyelids

my treasured gift for you

but you get so many of those

that another one gets lost in the maze.

I guess I could take so much more pain

than I ever thought possible

taking advice from a nineteen year old

while listening to Louis Armstrong

modern and ancient meet in my head

collide and inhale that rough voice

with the air

gasping and imagining

that hot sweaty jazz club

in Chicago

where we met

for the first time

during the solo.

Now all is forgotten

buried in tarnished boxes

but suddenly the scene switches

to the Modern fucking world

and Neko Case

is singing Furnace Room Lullaby

and I hide

away from that part in the song

that can destroy every part of me

easier than your words can ever do.

It is alright though

my books of poetry

will probably never get done

I will hold them adrift

through my apartment

where I’m not so high in the sky

but I could run up the stairs like a teenager

above the squirrels

hiding always hiding

but I hear them

as I hear you

in the silence.

Sometimes not even a beating heart is near me

only the heat on my face flushing me

from my mom’s chicken soup

with lots of lemon and egg whites

apparently it heals all, she says.

I’m beginning to believe in the healing of food

more than love.

September Poems 2.

It’s not that you don’t include me

I could care less

about that shit

it’s all in my internal fit

my purple party dress

is always on

ready to dance until dawn

and the insomnia means naught

for all we fought

was worth a penny.

You are always funny

a comic in a tragedy

a tragic figure in a romance

all of these parts of you

I can see

of course I can be free

to choose.

All I want are your words

to penetrate deep within me

and they resonate, they do, they see

the invisible girl in me.

I don’t mean to rhyme

I know it’s not a crime

dropping my skirt in a dime

ready for you

spreading

all the unknown parts

stepping on broken hearts

that lead me straight to you.

In the middle of the day on a two

minute break.

I’m floating in a human lake

feeling your presence

in the past tense.

I know I pushed you away

I know it’s all my fault

please never halt

for me.

The Montreal air is so cold

summer to winter in one day

duvet comforters

festivals are over

daybreak disappearing

students arising

and you and me

are writing

what else is there left to do?

Soon I’ll be so naked

you won’t even see my skin.

Or maybe you always have.