Sadness in July

I wish I had more to say of how words

destroy my sanity. I wish you knew

me then

when I had nothing to lose.

I hope to see you again

when I can walk straight.

feeling drunk on words and fights

lately, crying all night long

i suppose aging is a phase

and suddenly not caring about

your tongue in my mouth

is an outright cancerous lymph

in my pride. I meant to be wet

for you but kept on thinking about

the mundane things.

You should have fucked me drunk

I am better than the dead.

I hate myself today

and I feel like a bad mom

but she whispers  in ocd sentences

I’m the best.

I read too much

nonsense.

So I listen to silence instead.

I wish you would have known

me then. in another life

when i was such a poetic slut

now i’m too old for your games

your wolf tricks

time eats up my lines

and leaves me volatile

vulnerable

aching for less clocks

and more moments

with the dead.

I’ve done it all

my time has passed

now it is time

to feed my soul.

I run instead

or drive fast

reciting Virgina Woolf in my head

and feeling lonely in my bed.

July should be the best month

but I don’t care about jazz

or laughter

anymore.

 

The Way it Happened

I came across you as you slept

while writing

your daily routine of morning coffee

and musical drive

collided with mine

when we wrote at the same time

about the same moment

in a zombie poetic state

and that is the way it happened.

 

Simple yet so complicated.

 

I think about all the times

you shared with me

all the moments no one

knew existed

except you and I.

 

It was magical

if you

calculate

or remove science

from the equation

and all that is said and done

only continues into today’s poetry.

 

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.

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.

song

You talk some trash and watch me vacuum in my knee socks

phone in my back pocket

my headphones on so loud can’t hear the soccer scores

you like my ponytail

ignore the players

and end up all over my spring blouse

unbuttoning my friendship buttons.

We walked on St.Paul all night

chasing our dreams

together

and kissing in cabs

I remember everything

the flashing reasons

I love you blow up in my face

erase the scars and build new castles.

You know how to fall in love with me

for decades, finding new things

to love

not being pulled in by my witty lines

my poems

but my real legs

on you.

You know exactly where I was when I lied

and you loved me anyway

chasing me down

showing me how you are the only one

who can handle my locked up days.

Play me that song

none of that new crap

but the one you sang to me

at your bar

in front of a live audience.

This is what keeps me close to you.

Full moon in Virgo

It could have started and ended the same way

but I keep on telling him

(as he holds me close and 

I smell his skin)

you don’t have to read my poems

or my book

to get into my head

so he reads the first ten pages

and brings the air

between us closer.

I see you in there

yet I don’t.

Forget the bloody moon

but what are the chances of it being my full moon

Isn’t that the title of your poetry book

I never published it

oh, I thought that’s what you do

just kiss me and don’t think too much

that’s my domain

forget the questions

remember only the answers.

The air is so thin now.

I can’t read you anymore.

The light followed me for days

to guide me to an empty place

to all parts of this town

as books fell out of my purse

to land on your thighs

it’s sexy to write a poem

when everyone thinks you’re not.

It’s sexy to kiss you

in front of strangers

when everyone thinks otherwise.

See you anon

Writing a novel is such a task

words found somewhere on the bottom of a tin flask

one last drop to tie me over

give me luck with a fake four leaf clover.

The dead trees still live

on the icy snow

we pass the farms, the homes

trying to let the feelings go

but they knock

they hum

like the sounds of this train or a long lost battle drum

on a bumpy ride or a field of dead

drink coffee and hide

behind Gatsby’s bed

or samples of another book

about people I never knew

or ones that I want to meet

so I write

on this train

on my feet

on a chair

in my head

up the musical stairs

as long as I paid the fare.
Did you miss my words?

all these crying kids

buy sour cream and onion chips

and then the mirror on the taxi reminds

me of him

fills my head up with deceitful lights

take words and turn them into

the vast forest

spanning across our two provinces

flowing in and out of them as robbers do

trickery, lies and subterfuge

filled with sweet apple pies.

Show my boarding pass

I have 87% of Fitzgerald

can’t stop reading about Daisy

Tom and Jay

leave nothing behind

night has turned into day

your name on my lips

and hands tightly squeeze my hips

for the trees are whispering again

and I know

people like us

can only hear them

even from behind the glass.

I write the title first

it’s from the book

another route

and cable lines

keep us joined

stronger than poetry.

Grab my bags

I’m coming home

and I missed you too.

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.

Old Montreal

The delight that is you
leaves me to dwell in your hands
for a while
reflect on your concerned smile
keep the distance real
for
in real time it means nothing
to others
who know naught-
how feelings
can eat you up alive
in a non-existent reality
how this reality
can determine another.
Daydreaming scenarios
written out in storybooks
drunk poems
with visuals
for poets like us
that need more
than mere words.
I could go on for
another more decade
begging zero needs
laughing at obscure art.
I am somewhere in that painting
my hair touched my waist
then
and my cheeks were fuller
pouring draft Boréal rousse beer
in the heart of Old Montreal
buying original art décor, café au lait peinture à la main
Jewellery, Indian soapstone
going to lofts
discussing art as the paintings
were lined up against the wall
windowsill
atop beds
and Mark & I came up with
great ideas
he illustrates my poems;
Kent showed us
how art and reality blend,
signed D-Tox.
Paid five hundred dollars
for a snapshot of my life
in another remote time.
Somehow loyalty
means everything again
in that rustic pub
where we met singers
artists, drunks
exchanging my portrait
for a night of drinking.
He drew a charcoal of me
he poured out his heart
and soul
in that empty glass.
I was always a good listener.
Too busy living to write
anything down.
Now it’s all hazy
like a lost dream
of
Youth.
At least I have the painting.

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.