.leitmotif.

I wish I had a theme song, a leitmotif. It would be quite the entrance, everywhere I go.
Although, I always wondered, that if someone were to have a constant theme song, wouldn't it just be a soundtrack? When is someone exiting one place and entering another?
Where are the doorways?
the borders?

On the other hand, the pyrotechnic accompaniment might make it all worth the while.
Maybe even bar me from returning to the United States.

absinthe

and no green faeries. turns out the dose of wormwood you need for hallucinations
is a lethal one$.

.gainful.employment.

It would seem that I am once again gainfully employed!
Building bikes, cashing checks, turning tricks.

Maybe I can afford a new deck soon.
or rent.

on the way home

i tried to keep my eyes open while
overpass signs blurred by.

tell me where to go and
i won't ask how.

trees with broken
backs hunch and lurch

for the road--
miserable.

like anything
could save us now

.happy.chickens.

Tomorrow, I will see what a happy chicken farm looks like, not that I doubt that my vegan ethos will waver, but I imagine that it will instill me with some hope.
Veggie burger/hot dog grill-out as well, and we'll find out if that corn on the cob that's been in their freezer since at least New Year's is any good.

Just don't rat me out to the customs officials that I've been near livestock and foreign soil.
On the other hand, it can't be as sketchy as the fellow on the bus coming up here that replied to "Are you bringing in any weapons?"
with "Uhhhhhh...."

hiatus

starts....now!

all creatures

i was alone and dreaming
of you and now my life
without you

how will i know you
after all

if i can't keep
myself together

all creatures
look up at heaven, their mouths
dry, no words, nothing to name it

and so i looked to you--

fill me with what
i cannot say

.low.tide.

Every time I skip a day, whether by accident or not, I feel like I have unknowingly observed a secret leap year that only I am privy to. And as the rest of the world charges on I'm constantly behind, clamoring quietly in the cracks between days.
The footsteps overhead are visible as they dislodge the dust from the wooden planks, drawn like venetian blinds on my window to world.
As I lie beneath like a benevolent troll, I allow them to cross, collecting my toll: little snippets from their everyday tête-à-tête.

daffodils

growing wild in the field
behind your house, like a small
fire. a hundred yellow mouths
turn skyward, waiting
for rain.
the wind moves through them,
cold as a passerby, rattling
stem to root.

.smear.the.queers.

On Tuesday, I overheard a lady in the bus station reading the Holy Bible to herself, when a man sitting across from her interrupted her politely and started conversation. He asked what book she was reading and she replied.

"The thing I never understood about the Bible, is in that Chapter you're reading, Genesis [it was Numbers], it says that Cain and Able moved around and married other people. But if Adam and Eve were the only two people that God made, and they were their only kids, then who did they marry?"

She didn't have an answer, but appreciated the question.

On Wednesday, I was co-hosting a radio show at the University of Western Ontario, and as my friend and I were walking out of the studio, and out of the building, we were stopped by a girl with a Japanese name who asked if she could take a picture of us for her fashion blog. We shrugged and said why not, even though Lulu hadn't showered in days, and I happened to look like a monochrome menace. We did a Crystal Castles pose, and she asked us before we left if we were related. Cousins? Brother and sister?

On Thursday, I wondered who was really related to who, and as familial social order collapsed around me, I saw only sacks of flesh walking down the street, pulpy fruits of family trees smashed into the pavement like a grotesque painting.
We are artists.

.electric.shuffle.

If Chris buys the Alex P. Keaton, I might as well move into the lounge upstairs, settle into the Forest City.
Then I could co-host the Electric Shuffle more often than just tomorrow from 13.30 - 15.30.

march

it all begins outside: the way you
shimmied up my porch steps to greet me
the sound of church bells rolling through
the night, parting the air with each new note--
i felt the turbulence in my chest.

here's another way: i can hear the train
howling like a wounded dog, slinking
through dark.
i sleep with the windows open
just to listen. all of it meaningful
if i can put it together right.

and then you, your mouth's full
of words when you sleep, always talking
like i can pull you from

wherever you've gone.

.onwards.on.to.ontario.

Last time I was on a bus ride with my partner, we were fooling around in the back, and I ended up walking around the NYC Greyhound station with blue balls for an eternity. I even had to meet her father, who showed up drunk on wine at midday and insisted he knew the way to her gate. She was going back to Tennessee. We broke up not too long after that, and the next time I saw her was when I went down to Chattanooga with high hopes involving her roommate. That didn't pan out either.

Tomorrow, at the least, I'll be in Canada, so there's no way I can lose.
And anyway, we have sandwiches and steamed buns for the ride.

best

in the August heat, you pulled
the covers to your chin, the hot air
lulling you like a lover's hand.
i loved you best then

huddled in my bed
sleeping
like morning would never come

again.

.unlocal.growths.

But what do the trees think of it all? or plants of any sort, for that matter. It stands to reason that most people don't enjoy being moved around that often (enter the Trail of Tears, Warsaw Ghetto, Palestinian diaspora, and so on), so what is a plant supposed to think of the matter?

Oh, it's just like being in a military family, being slung around the globe in your childhood years, like a stone into political Goliaths. Just think of all the countries that those children get to see and be exposed to from such a young age.

Well, no kid I have ever known enjoys sitting in place for half a day, whether its at sea level, or cruising altitude. But maybe the whole military family thing can be retained: your local gardener razing the dirt of any weeds, because heaven knows they spread faster than AIDS in a vampire community. It's backyard imperialism! Exterminate and repopulate!

Maybe that's a little much. Let's take a more individualistic point of view. Wouldn't you like to go into outer space? among the stars? Or even better! How about back in time! or forwards? One must imagine the existential moment in which one realizes that one is being dragged through the world along the dimensional tracks of someone else's universe.

Which, really, sounds a little traumatizing. And when was the last time anyone enjoyed an existentialist moment?

Well, in any case, it seems like a once in a lifetime opportunity for most plants, something they can partake in as a sprout or sapling. Good luck moving that oak tree down the street.

No doubt if the idea weren't so appalling to begin with, a committee of trees would snuff out the entire practice of whisking rooted individuals all over the place. We have our own methods of dispersion thank you very much. If God had wanted men to fly, he would have given them metal detectors.
Sure, maybe a few of those sprouts enjoy the whole experience, but in the end, I suspect that they're happy to be back in their element.
"Excuse me while I kiss the sky, and curl my toes in the dirt.
If I can just live long enough to bear some fruit, maybe they'll leave me alone."

giving up was something to consider, to roll over my thoughts like a mint on my tongue. maybe it was the eerie quiet when i got home that got me thinking that way. no dogs barking, chairs strewn around the table like invisible people could still be sitting there. what was there to say? only silence pervaded. what was left to do?

i told you my unhappiness was not something you had to bear. i could let it consume you or let you go.

.divisible.by.one.or.the.other.

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.MAPHematics.

How does one get rejected and accepted all at once?
For 45 grand, I could be one of those Asian model citizens that populate graduate program brochures, keeping up the good work, but staying well below their department's radar.
I might as well buy a money clip to hold my diploma.

manifesto

it's not that I dislike people, just that
I prefer the company of my solitude.

.cheers.

He bought all my poems
read all the stories
clapped at every reading
choked down leftover coffee an
hour before bedtime
He would sing them all
back to me while
he took a whiz after sex

I was glad it wasn't
going anywhere wasn't
working out
The bed would be returned
to me like the vast
western expanse
tired of catching tears
and sweat. The
continental divide
sewn back together along
the seams of rivers

Who feeds a tree its
own apples anyway?