Untitled

Lying in bed right before dawn
listening to silence
it makes a noise
(Jack White)
it is my muse
you might think
I have many. The way my mind works
I do. The way you twist my arm to make me love you. The way you order for me. The way you forget about me.
Treat me like my notebook.
Rip me up
put me together again.
I think clearer when you sleep
kiss you hard when you wake
and look at me in that sexy way.

In my bed
the angels whisper in my ears
about all that crap I forget during the day
the way you walk in a room
the way you touch my soul from a plane
the song you choose to fill my pain
the seriousness and lighthearted
strain
of my fucked up brain.

Sylvia saves me,
has a way with running words on a train track
I wave at her all the time
talk to her
and she is the best silent listener.
She knows.
You might think I love you
when I know not where I packed
my eyeliner
my bra
in this paper mill town
in Quebec.
I am fearless for only you.
I am frozen and warm only for you.
I think you want the
parts of me
I cannot give
but now that more arrive
at our hockey game
you can dump and chase
whomever has prettier eyes
you can punish
and put me in your penalty box
for being so naughty.
You can have all the power plays
you so desire
but watch out for
those cherry pickers
ready
to score.
In this town
it feels like nothing is possible.

IMG_8702.PNG

Coffee Shop poems

I imagine myself

dying of some

disease. A morbid thought,

I know. I tell my children,

one day I will be dust.

I think I can fly. They nod

their heads and laugh.

I stare at the birds hoping one day

I will reincarnate into one and migrate,

take flight. I want to leave this city

in the heavy winter and fly south. Meet

the other nomads and talk about

our body heat. I want to see him

naked, knocking him down

with his knack for knowledge

about my imperfections. I want

him to look past the words and

battery chargers, the truth, the

half-made up lies, the quick

good-byes. It is all a bunch of

fucking crap. I smile, falling into

his trap. I am the best actress you

have seen off-screen. The theater

is in my mind. The mirror is off

the wall in between the hooks

and family portraits you barely find. I want

every poem to be the worst one.

I wish the next one,

to shake his world, make him

think about why he leaves me

every day, why I expect every man

to be him. I want him to continue

hating everything he loved

about me. The way he saw the sea

through me, the crashing waves,

the all night raves. The days

pass slow, he wrote me in a letter,

you make think I have forgotten

all the masks you wore, but

I went to Venice too, I saw how you

were everywhere, in the art you can explore,

the pleated skirts, the Murano glass

in spurts. I have not thought about you,

I will not think about you, no matter

how many times you want me to.

I want to be you and you want to be

me. When I write a poem that

makes me physically sick, the kind

of poem you would share with no one

the kind, that even

your lover couldn’t handle.

The coffee shop is too crowded.

The Bridge interlude

The closer I come

the further you feel.

I could not tell you

because you did not want to know

then I did not want the truth
no matter its profound beauty

it is hard to look at your shadow

for so many months

hard to love you

when you put up concrete fences.

On that full moon

I would tell nobody

die with it

live with it

breathe with it

why ask at all?

I wore my high heeled blue shoes.

Someone may know more than you

and so ready to peek inside my soul

while you sleep awake

and wonder about fate.

I am starting to not trust the internet

and it all started in Soho

the information lied

your hopefulness

my mood swings

my answers

your neighborhood.

Little things tell me what you want

and it may not be

so deep inside of me

as I first thought

it could be as far away as oceans are

safe from my loneliness.

Relying on technology and shoes to get me places closer to you

when in essence
it is further away.

Watching Anna Karenina

When that empty breeze
brings upon memories
of how your kisses tasted so sweet
your arms around my neck
gently lifting me
the white love surrounding
us on the green grass
and how I bit your lip
in ecstasy
and teased you
until the fights turned
into mad sex
meeting lovers in corridors
behind screens
and how love stands alone
blocks cages and church icons
as anger is the new breed
of communication
while you look down my blouse
hard for me
wanting all of me
my insides filled with only you
if I could give you more of me
I would
but I am stuck
somewhere between who I was
and who I want to be
for I am on that unpredictable wave
forecast is fluctuating
my insides are tortured
with common folk
but your eyes
oh those fucking eyes
how they see through every piece
of me
that I toss and shed off
like my clothes
naked.

You can undress me
without a touch
love me
until we speak no more
of this
or silence me
with no words
that make me search for my own.

It is how you pursue me
without wanting to
battling yourself
me
Us
Them
Him
Her.

It is the death of us that preoccupies my mind rather than the birth.
One can die from a broken heart
and princesses and princes
are not immune
to clutching their heart
in torment.
No one can truly
forgive
betrayal.

I watch your strong back
as I leave you
no other choice
but to say goodbye
to the woman you
kissed on that fall day
and who loved you
with all her breath.

ten seconds

As you roar
bark, write, taunt
please the masses
years turn into decades
lines across the forehead
funerals become weddings.
In time,
you told me how you fell for me
in ten seconds
how you watched me walk
around the room
watched me dance
entered the dance floor
like a thief.
if I close my eyes
count to ten
I know how long you tried
and I was subtle
putty in your hands
entrapped in that aqua blue
taking off my shoes
ripping off my clothes
writing my number with black eyeliner
I had to have you
mostly because you tried
you came after me
you wanted me
I felt it
and
that desire alone
creates tulips in my spring
hence I wanted you
I fell into your arms
laughingly.
I want to remember this
and nothing else.
And these are the reasons
you have me
where you want me.

Here you go

Open road
Don’t Stop playing
Go Your Own Way
the pedal on the gas
faster and faster
hear me?
It is always the
ones you know
are coming
that hurt the most
the needle on the album
from beginning to end
without any interruption
or masturbation
upcoming drama
wind in the hair
arms bare
music in the veins
thinking only of you
and how you can reign
over my thoughts
say all the right
passages
and now there are
only memories
I take time and play
with them like a guitar
make them only mine
flip open the pages
and read the moments
I will travel
through countries
and space
only to see you smile
from above
in another
dimension
where we sit across
from each other
and debate
discuss
argue
make up
trivial needs
desires
and never see eye to eye.

Full Bloom

Crumpled up two pages

a rarity in my hands

most times I do not come up for air

as long as it takes a song

to start and end

as long as I make this pen bend

to my right and wrong.

I can detox my body

add ginger to my green tea

bring back my mind

with Rumi, silence and obscure poets I find.

I can revive my soul

writing until my notebooks are full

and the cardboard back cover will do

any blank space filled through and through

page after page of nonsense, raging like a bull

(you can come in and out of my room

I won’t see you, I’m in full bloom)

creating an inner world

with hotel rooms on fire

sex acts, food, conversation, attire

vivid characters’ desire

as she spreads her legs

feeds her need

with his vibrant seed.

I know the joke’s on me

of how could she write

such pornography?

Erotica from the Greek eros, I recount

and my real name

my real picture

forget it, it’s a bloody game

deconstruct me

the nature of literature

serendipity

carpe diem

in vino veritas

deux ex machina

professors’ voices reminding me

of tragedies, endings, motivations

mere words

to stop the critics, the academia, the vultures

the turds

you know who you are

and you might think you’re a star

but no one here gets out alive

and if you haven’t heard Jim say

it then get back to the past

listen without judging

take that fucking dive. 

Tell him a tale

wipe a tear

off I sail

do not leave any tracks

hard to tell the lies from the facts.

All I know is that I’m in full bloom.