It Evaporates​

You never lose a word from under the sheets

it can evaporate into desire within lightbulbs

of dark fiction. You tend to write about them,

blue octagons of your nightmares, the

lined frames of wisdom you neglected

to admonish. All these poets, they

love to see you crawl through utopian

skies. They love to see you die

a poetic death, make sure theirs

becomes immortal while your vampire

stories die under golden

Greek suns. I have unimpressed you

with bath time fun

you stopped playing mindless games

showed me your grey hair.

I can still cross my legs

be a drunken listener.

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In the Middle

Once I was at the end of the love song

crying for years because it was over

before it even began. We were caught

loving the wrong person. I immersed

from my drowning and swam to the

beginning of the line. I sailed across

your poems and floated on your words.

You sent them to me by mail, on out-

dated postcards, you wrote them on

the back of my hand with your

fingertips. I sent you magic and

illusions with one needle on your

arm. We lived in a movie and

recited Shakespeare naked in bed.

You were not even close to being

who I thought you were. I was

too much for you to handle back

then, wanting to do everything

and doing absolutely nothing

about it. I climbed Mont-Royal

in heels and you laughed at

my absurdities. I was spontaneous

and explosive, until I wasn’t anymore.

I bent backwards on words

and the power of your hands.

Now I’m in the middle of something

that will change me forever.

I will never bet that girl again.

I have to be someone I thought

I would never be. Life throws you

these wicked curveballs

and I am catching them,

ready to be stuck here

hoping that it will not get

worse. All this hope

for songwriters and poets

but for a regular woman like me

it’s a waste of my time.

Brand New

Every dress she wore

had a hole in it. She used to sew

but they always came apart,

she was never as good as

her grandmother. Now it is

a stand she takes

to break down

the hold he has on her waist

on her tight fitting dress,

she refuses to make it

brand new

preferring the tattered one

for it is the perfect shade of black

she paid five-hundred dollars

and still has the receipt.

It never fades. Everyone knows

she loves that dress,

but his jacket covers her moles.

He could buy her more,

but having names on her ass

means nothing to her

if it is not poetry.

She believed in old hockey cards,

the ones she found in his attic,

The Rocket

close to his heart,

she competed with dead hockey players,

he competed with dead poets.

She found his hockey skates

in a crate dated 1977

an expo hat that his uncle

from Greece left behind

in a rush to get back to the olive trees.

He found nothing of hers 

ever

this pained her

this idea that he would discover her soul

in death,

this burial of all her poems

only to be unearthed by him.

If only she had driven him that night,

he would be here

reading her words

and not under the frozen earth

and she using words like

Forever

Always

and meaning them.

Take

I want to give you what you ask for. I truly do

but all my shopping bags are full. Nothing for me

to buy here. No romance, no hope, no futile essence

sold in jars. I want to write you the most beautiful

love poem ever written, but that’s already been done

before.

Instead take my heart, I kept it wrapped up for you,

untouched, warm, full of soft beats, effects, sky dives

just for you. Yes, you wanted it and I say, take it.

I might write otherwise, but believe no poet’s words

until you kiss them off their lips. Believe nothing

until you read it in my eyes. Romance lives inside us

before the coffee, the sunrise, the putting on of the bra,

the makeup, the razor

it’s lying there

waiting for the lover’s alarm

to wake up

and pour some love

some hard sex

into its depths.

It’s so vast, you see, so structured

so enigmatically built that no one can

know the truth. I want you to love me

for all I am, but all you see is what I let you,

and all you give me are fragments.

Take it all or nothing at all. I live differently

think inside my head too much, love

without a thought, dream into a river

and float above the clouds.

This is the only way I can survive

before you wake up and tell me

how beautiful you are and special

before you pound your love at me

I am thinking that this rapture this title

of a poetry book

is just that.

Poems for hopeless fools like us.

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.

Marie

I wear a fishu
regard words with judgement
eat fresh croissants
close to Palais-Royal
and watch you arrrive
with hope and ideals
about the future of France
amongst my wax sculptures
poking their head at you
and embarking on the journey
that is destined for free thinkers
such as us.
I will marry you one day
handsome genius
of air balloons
but first my audience
awaits.
The struggle continues
on blvd du Temple
but you support
the artistry
the passion
you can only wait
for so long
to make me your woman.

I have my own path.

When you hold me
I forget how hard my hands work
or the royalty
there is only you and me
as it should be
but your art comes first, you plead
for all my denial
you know me well
and next year
perhaps you will not know me
at all.

rope

I don’t know how to do much on the computer

I try to change things up 

but waste my time in traps

detour life in enclosed cars

drive with hands in the air

blasting music until I get annoying

Montreal weather unpredictable

and overbearing

like love and lust combined in sex

and people stare

at grocery lines like I’m some kind of stranger

then they know I’m that girl

they ask me about my book, my tragedies, my comedies, my romances, 

do I ask? 

NO, I really don’t care

to lower the music

and suddenly he is next to me scrolling while he 

waits

while I hold my book

and he stares like I’m from another time 

( yes, I definitely am )

making my daughter recite Maya

my son is like me so I know there is still hope

but you,

you make me wonder 

about all the times I held onto that rope

instead of letting it go.