alot of people are talking

and talking

and talking

and talking 

about 

phonetic influenzas

im sick of your 

syntactical sinus congestion

I'm going home. 

Bushwick Brooklyn sandwiched between a drug house and another drug house I spooned cockroaches Polyester bed sheets pressed to my calves Stuck on my elbows We woke up To the shrewd non users Dealing To the unpredictable users Dealt In our one bedroom apartment There was no beauty to shake off

A found poem, bits and pieces were taken from an article from Rookie magazine to form this collage of words

“http://www.rookiemag.com/2014/02/hold-on-sour-grape/”

His Manners.

maybe you were just being polite when you said i was beautiful

as if your tongue could only hold words

that fit the confines 

of your body

your boxed body

it felt weird

not to wear a suit, isn’t that sad?

you asked me

i was silent

because maybe you were just being polite

when you 

flirted with

my counter culture fibres

my “free spirited” allure

how many times do you have to tell me

im a hippie

maybe you were just being polite when you rolled a joint

like giving a japanese person chopsticks instead of a fork

Yes united nations

you’re ahead of the game

all hippies smoke pot

thanks for the peace offering 

maybe you were just being polite

when we talked about the moon

or

when we slow danced to neil young 

with the trees

maybe you were just being polite when you kissed

me 

for the last time

st clair station

st clair fucking subway station

I’m happy you took me in

for 

a night

thinking I was some psychedelic

I could take you on a trip

I would die out in six hours

wouldn’t even know I was there

peacefully leave you

to just think about

that trip

but this time 

im not 

the

drug 

to your

convenient

escapism. 

chalk baby.

i made a chalk drawing of your face

and I drew it all wild

like you 

wanted it to be

i wet my finger and slid it through

the pavement

streaking 

your lips

your eyes

your flesh

I wrote a letter to your insides

and asked them

how could they be

so stoic

when they are made of water

so broken

when they are linked by veins

so scared 

when the earth pulsates with them 

you answered 

with research from your mind

a studious collection

of memories

that sorted your 

bodily feelings

into 

grey filing cabinets

grey

filing 

cabinets

you forgot to 

bring a pen 

so you could label 

me. 

elipses

Funerals are sad

When carpets small talk with me

Sorry the wine slipped

Wanting

I want you harder than the way I slam my socked feet into the kitchen floor 

Pounding my love into your oblivious eyelids

I want you harder when the plastic nails of those plastic lovers fail to decompose

And I stand in their wasteland, counting the minutes it takes for their love to rot

Waiting 

And I want you harder

When I think about the way you are gracing our earthly mother with your barefeet 

and those bathtub blessed paperbacks that I lent you 

Because I thought I was too stupid to read them. 

I thought Thoreau was too far into your head to take time for mine

And I want you harder

Because you sling Plato’s Republic beside your hammer when you build the square houses

for our square world 

That I know you hate.

I want you harder when I think 

Of showers with an endless supply of hot water

And a disintegrating supply of nakedness

Still I want you harder

I want a body

harder

To make my body feel like maybe it can cause any other fucking emotion than despair

Because I want to live outside of these placebo nursed tumors 

I want you harder

To have a blood flooded body beside me 

Symbiotic solitude 

So that there is no negative space between these floral sheets

That are made in factories by 

Chinese children 

Who are skinny but not alone?

Art by Abby Sparling

Because they have bodies beside them 

When they are crammed into their putrid shacks

for hours in their own shit

Because of the square houses that you build

And the books I give away

Because I’m too stupid to read them 

And I want you harder.

Skye Woman

A poem about skye woman

This is about a beautiful woman I washed dishes with who enlightened me to the sexist and dangerous culture that exists on the tar sands camps, she bravely worked through it all...because she had to. She walks as a free Skye woman through the dark clouds of capitol greed. 

skye
was maybe twenty five 
and rig pigs were on her tongue

she checked the bleach
and washed the meat 
with eyes hanging swollen on 
metal rungs

in little bits between 
ziploc containers
and steam filled abbreviations
she told me 

about black wolves and settlements
sweat lodges and seventh children
oil sands and oil camps
girls
girls being sluts
protecting sluts from camps
breathing troubles
and never being alone
brothers and sisters
victoria
being the only female in a grocery store
pow wow
being the knowledge keeper

skye 
invited me to teepee
invited me to sing with her 
in between cultural juxtapositions
and chamomile tea
we laughed about men 
and I pretended to know 
to understand the spiritual messages 
of the seventh child
oh Skye Woman

she walks

Agoraphobia

I left my face in the birth canal
As my bloody body slid 
Into the white waspy gloves of the nurse
That wept through my coronation
Into white middle class privilege
She swaddled me with oblivion plush
Conformity Cradle
I left my face in the birth canal
When I realized my bones
Fat with stock market marrow
Groped by the black suits
My Femur works for the
F.T.C
And I left my bones in the birth canal
Other days it is my skin
Sliming subservient flesh
Melting in a placental pudding 
Yes I left my skin in the birth canal too
Maybe If I was
Agoraphobic
I would have stayed home
And kept

My face

The Grand Sustenance

The Grand Sustenance

your head tastes like salt
cheap white boxed salt
table salt
the stuff of broken tabled
homes
thoughts pickling
in mason jars
oh iodized opinions
dream your sterile dreams
you sick clinical pig
preserved thoughts
for the harsh winter
so you can chew spit chew
spit chew
salty thought jerky
for springtime
when new tables are built

your head tastes empty

A warning.

just so you know

and just so you really understand the situation

that you are pursuing by reading this blog....

here are a few words for your soul

there is a girl that will fall in love with you

she will love your bones more than your face

she will empty her tea bag 

without you noticing 

and place her fortune with sticky fingers

eating away at fallen leaves

sucking in the drips

that might give her away

she will show you her teacup

with its man handled

delicacy 

of 

spiritual potential

she will

ask you to stay

just so that she can write a poem about your

raw insides 

she thinks they're beautiful

I'm sorry.