I was asked

I do not read minds

but have paid others

to tell me where my jacket is,

the size of the sword

above my shoulder,

the scent of the candle

you lit in my absence. When I die

I will come back, I know I am

one of those that linger, watch,

observe the present

for signs of the past,

think of the future

for split seconds.

I can be such a tart, a well-balanced

meal,

a sour drink

your favorite slice of cheesecake-

you be the warm apples

and I will be the pie.

Top us off with the universe’s ice

cream and dabble in bizarre

metaphors

while I am drunk off caffeine.

Yes, too much of it

and hence the trivia questions,

the sleeves of tattoos

with no meanings.

Angels have no wings

even if you call me one

I know you poke fun

with your poker face. Lies

are convincing,

deceit a shaded charcoal

of my first art class. Yes,

I rode a motorcycle

and was that girl, with a sketchpad

and a journal.

I was asked to write

a poem

about myself

where

nothing is true

I do that already,

I replied.

I lectured on Canadian Literature

I have done more

than you googled

or is written

so much goes unwritten

unsaid

announced

so much is detached

from this microscopic world

of fine hairs.

I leave mine messy

and forget my brush

on purpose.

What happened

to all those questions

you never asked?

Speaking of

You can speak of how scientists
discovered the latest
drugs to cure
our consumption
of designer’s broken secrets
falling sweetly
into their billboard lies.

You can speak of how your friends
love your wife’s smile
more than you know
or how you read only
books that teach you
how to captivate a girl.

You can speak of nothing

you truly want to

but I love what you say
all the nasty words
hurtful darts my way
it keeps me exactly
where you want me.

I am full of Modern Poetry
inhaling the true ones
like alcohol
reading masters and servants
listening to vinyl
before it all began
this rehashing
hashtag nonsense
urban dictionary well
lift me out of here
submit some poems
get published
like it means anything to academia
and Professor Moore.
They have their own clique
of refined words
and diction.

Wake up and kiss me
I sleep naked
for your seeds
to grow inside me.

You can speak to me
anytime
any place
but you never do

for I don’t want you to.

Hideaway

It does not matter what
I say to you
when you bring
down the pain
and hug it
like a newborn
needing to relive
every spiteful word
she said
by
taking down
picture frames
to create new ones.
It does not matter
how I see it
because my green eyes
ignite you.
I feel your
sadness now
when you ache
empathy
encompasses me
that’s how I’m made
with loyalty and heartache
with knowledge
and truth.
I can see through
screens
cracked mirrors
I can write in your mind
trace your body’s shape
on top of mine.
I let you in now
it’s too late
to change fate
anyhow.
I can feel the walls
caving in
and I
can let you be
but, mon amour,
know that
no matter the state
you’re in
I can handle
you.

IMG_8067.PNG

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

Chain

The music plays and dinner is in the oven
shake my ass to all the senses
jump over suburban fences
so modern men and women
don’t see me at night
up late with one burning light
is she having sex in the kitchen
black sabbath singing about
evil minds that plot destruction
and romance is kicked to another new fashion
immediate satisfaction
as long letters are forgotten
history books
politicians
speak of war
wages
increase
and I want to know
if you can feel the sunrise
and sunset as I do
or is all this talk
another way to block
the truth –
Is there more?

For sure, you perfect
the poetic muse,
know how to rhyme
the right words that fuse
mystery, need, desire
all the lust of a burning fire
between the legs
and you know how this begs
for another visit
with no time limit.

I want to see the horizon
with you
in your arms
surrounded by your undeniable charms
and all the girls and boys that ran away
from us
know that we can only give so much
board the soul up with no touch
until an inferno erupts
and the sex drive
is the only logic we strive
to aim for
to need
like an addict needs speed.

Sex and heat
close up
real and
sweet.

The night is always young for souls like us
that don’t really sleep
that live in dreams
and dream awake.
Artists know the path
to one another
is never clear cut
love the bumps
the unexpected rain
and still you see my
shimmering pants
when no one else noticed.

There was this chain
around your wrist
that I particularly stared at
for
it was touching your skin
and all the alcohol
and your eyes the colour of the tempered sky
all this did me in
so much attraction
magnets would have been jealous
the more I think about it
the more I confess.

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. 

At the curb again

I’m trying
but when those words
invade my head
I don’t care about making
the bed
I’m doing it all
but when I need to explode
the bomb inside
I forget the clothes, miss my ride
try to breathe the air
detox the smoke
but my lungs healed
ready for more than a toke
they need the Pain
to exhale the runaway train
in my fucked up brain.

In front of the church
pounding on the keys
blasting Serena
had to stop
turn on the hazards
shut it out
feel the words
in my gut
deep in the wounds
be the Invisible girl
at the gallery in Paris
I could be the perfect mannequin
displayed at Ogilvy’s
pointing fingers
making me a Hero
while I avoid the cameras
and government
with their bullshit promises.
I did it on my own
I don’t ask for help
a fool for everyone again
with hope in my eyes
and anguish in the deepest parts of my soul
for what I lost
the day I found myself again.

I am stopped at a red light
and I find the source that illuminates me
It’s you all over again
I am still
I promise to be that good girl
lilacs in bloom
in the throes of gloom
of your light track
across my heart.
I’m never mad at you
I want you right here between
my lies.