Tag Archives: poetry

warm.

it’s so warm in the centre, the dark, of night that each strand of my hair feels wet against my neck a follicle his mouth pretended not to taste, and sharply, like a spoon you snapped in half, dropped for … Continue reading

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carling.

we took a really long drive down carling, because carling is so damn long and you needed the break i can’t legally drive but it was a good time anyway at the end of the street is a school and … Continue reading

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recent thoughts.

simplicity, a backwards pedal into a garage your seeping wealth of beads of sweat, dark hair, your back blurred in the dryer of a mens’ room. stray cats, sex, grey shorts alone and one less cigarette a day and night

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days.

ten days after we fucked i went grocery shopping with my dad, which doesn’t happen very often. he bought four bottles of ketchup because it was on sale and he still lives in 1962 and every spot in the sky … Continue reading

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gods.

while bearing the weight, when every bone struck by another finally gave you came up through swamps, through metres of dampness, miles. you swam pools of water for me and my wavering faith, an idea you would travel much farther, … Continue reading

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twine.

tips lather at seams and are strung, at mouths, twine to my hands, knots for your hands scratches to come in, be let through a window with shoes on

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season.

this is how we remember ourselves three hundred days later exposed pipeline in dirt, a wrong turn. fresh as the holes where my eyes had been once, and were, yours on the nape of my neck with hands, in gananoque … Continue reading

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dawn.

a stampede broke the glasses we used for our seeing and drinking, and i was already drunk: my heart bled for a year. on the arm of my couch like it hadn’t your tongue melted mine with the lights from … Continue reading

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december poem.

you fall between two alphabetically, a place they have both been before, on bleachers in snow i fall for the drywall, the bottles of wine if you were not you i would reach for wrought iron the gate would swing … Continue reading

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centre.

after forty days i have no fear of death. the planes lift off from pearson, sky shuts on mississauga in the centre of a highway we walked and we held hands, we were my nightmare soaking in like sinking wheels … Continue reading

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