raw

they call me James dean in this life
i hold the joint
don’t say society
true art never really dies
they sit outside
the bathroom to make sure i don’t find
pills or wire during a psychotic chapter
i’d never do anything a fourth time over
i love you life art and manic desires

no mirror in the bathroom
i sit chain smoking and painting for hours
reading dalí – i am drugs –
once it was withdrawals
crazy visions and hallucinations
i have survived

 

Do You Believe in What You See?

Flowing flower blossoms
In the valley of neptune
Await the golden path
Surrounded by lush vegetation
Tantalizing realities

Conjoined by a sky so vast,
The stars—
We ourselves squint to see—
Sense the eccentric emerald colour
It engenders

Tranquility of the essence
Overlooks the forgone conclusion
of irreconcilable enemies
To connect the true restricted meaning
of vast emotions

Tiny dancing creatures
Encompass the surface
of the unharmed ground
and contextualize frequencies
to mimic clapping hands
Congratulating
At the cue of an action
Deserving attention

the real journey

forge through treacherous hills,
fallen leaves,
and whining trees

leave it all behind
rest your pretty little head on mine
understand the blue sky blooms with the moon

freedom awaits the longing participant
reaching out,
pleading,
to save them from a
life of self-mockery
foolish perpetual nothing

wander and wonder
awaits you on the other side
one tip: do not look back
the real journey never ends

we are free
everything is poetic to me
i live day in and day out
like an angel came and uncovered me

perfectly attuned sessions

last night
yelling in the street
flailing arms alongside the slide guitar
bottembell bill at the Zeppelin show
dancing in front of everybody with a bright red dress
talking to the bandmates
something to never forget

later that night
still dancing, now atop
a picnic table
flailing around, riding the waves
vodka filled gatorade
an Irish fellow fell for me
I slept outside on the terrace
in a towel with a bottle of wine

earlier that night
rapping Biggie in trinity bell woods
drinking session grapefruit beers
tango underneath the slack line
(and the moon and trees)
off to the bench to explore
the depths of the human brain
we talk about the absence of effort in
personal relationships that are the
roots of who we are as people

that afternoon
bar fancy on queen west
the restored brick wall with chairs on display
pieces of the Amazon forest
open windows, doors, minds
passionately quoting HOWL with other beautiful souls
(the bartender)
oysters, bourbon sours, gratuitous shots of whisky and bubbly
no sense of time during sessions
something to never forget

It Is What It Is

A scintilla of hope vanishes
when avalanches
race before you
with a posture of enmity.

Time is a trap.
Flowing along unknowing
with a nature of indifference.
The beautiful landscape does not exist
as the avalanche comes
to coerce all that is.

If there was a word to describe
anything and everything all at once,
it is noticeable now
if not through the matter in front of you,
but from the quivering tremor
igniting a heartbeat in goosebumps,
raising every single hair.
The feeling is deeper than
a tempest, and existentially more vivid
than Starry Night and the Northern lights.

 

kiss on the subway

I

a bottle of wine
forgotten Time
rhythm rather than rhyme
sounds weave together like a perfect vine

dancing in the street
went to the beach
sat underneath a willow tree
I lay down my yoga mat
simon plays his ukulele

II

remember, we met at the poetry reading
I sat alone in the back
sipping on my Manhattan
you upfront perched on the window frame
saw me right away

three bars later
we replayed our life together
talking the same language through
nothing but a glance between eyes
as the window of the soul

in Koreatown
I said did you see the Jimi Hendrix painting
there before, you said no and then
you looked at me
like you saw explosions in the sky

into the last bar
I pushed my hands through the curtains
a test to see if I’m your true match
you got bourbon and I got a bourbon sour
I said I like your bourbon
so we shared

it is what it is
we are equals
we switch glasses and have identical prescriptions
we compare watches –
mine the world
yours the directions –

‘Hedonisms End’

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Bass lines, neck lines, white lines:
The underground reservoir lounge
Is like living in secret euphoria
With rose-coloured glasses.

Blackened lungs and offbeat hearts.
Screams for viable veins to penetrate.
The moment before complete opaque Desolate.

Blood runs on the ground
To make crimson butterfly wings.

I tiptoe about
Like a ticking clock.
The train of emotion
Takes miles to stop.

I wake and find you fallen
Deep in my heart.
It means we are never apart.

I float towards my mind’s eye
To see all I have left:
Photographic membranes.
A melancholic abyss of what if.

I feel your fingers caress
My auburn hair.
I notice the damp
Ground beneath my feet.
The way the light hits the water,
The peculiar insect-like cloud formations,
The crisp air flowing into our lungs.
I listen to the beat of your heart and
A background bird song.

Time kills every affair.
It is our deeply eternal fossil record.
I might as well be translucent
Like the fighting ice cubes in my gin drink.
Perspective in time can exceed no end.