Thursday, December 30, 2010

Bible Belt

Her thighs opened smooth, carved and hard,
My fingertips griped them as they would 
A lid to a casket,
Opened
A place men go but never come out of

The aroma of her cunt danced with the 
Sweat and the thick humid air,
Twinkled like a star through the sheets,
The funeral was starting I could hear the music
My blood turned to feathers
As her grip tore me by my spirit
And turned me inside out
I took her by suprize,
Found her flower and stole the pollen
And fucked her in a way
She knew she would be
Staying fucked. 

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Vuteva

You got it all wrong, man
You only want it because it vanished, 
It's like... high noon and you're just
Walking circles looking for your shadow,
Pathetic.
Well it will come back just give it 
Some time,
Be patient, and ya so much easier said 
Then done
I know you know I know that,
But ain't another option
Cuz those veins ain't empty yet
And it's not the pain we're worried bout
As much as what we'll do if we ever
Actually get what we've been
Askin' for
And realize 
It's not her as much as her absence that your drawn too,
And she's got her own things going
And you have your own things going
And
We got it all wrong, man
But if you gotta want something,
It mayaswell be her,
Anyways.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

born, raised

Saturday, December 18, 2010

snow angel

the moon
crawled across the sky,
a prelude to the suns rise;
as it followed close behind,
longing to wake and catch your eye

...we'll get her next time

the way
a rose grows it's pedals
just to have them
fall,
i'm writing to say
i love you,
because you wont pick
up my
calls.

what did I do so wrong?

my angel, 
etched in snow
surviving,
keeping cold.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

drunk blah blah blah typer

poisoning the well

the need has began taking the heart
the soul
the organs and the spirit.

i'm afraid it's gone too far,
that there is more poison than water
in the well

and we are doomed.
fate sealed tight


the genie is out of the bottle and pounding my
chest with a hammer
he needs to have his wishes.

he wants me to have my wishes,

i want my wishes.

as the devil sews on wings
i sit here in silence
wondering if i'm losing it
or if it's lost

if it's the poison I want or to be
poisoned

Friday, November 5, 2010

road beers

None of this makes as much sense as I thought it would.
I don't know what you're doing
What you've been doing,
I've made it a point not too.

I'm here now, where you are 
I'm in the quick sand
I'm with you

Be a little kinder
Throw me that branch
It's right there
You can see it
And I can see it too.

It's pathetic,
Tell everybody,
Tell the web designers, make sure the label reps know too.

The cats claw,
The car alarms,
The best bars,

Hope everything is awesome. 

Antlers in the Snow

I've been spying on the drunks
(tonight I'm not one of them)
from my
living room window.

I put the kettle on and
wait for it to sing

the slurred banter runs from the street
into my kitchen

I get out my favorite
black mug,
the one she left behind
and squeeze half a lemons juice into
the hot Red Tea.

National Geographic is on the television
at 2:45 am. It's an hour long special on the Moose.

I have been sober (and sane) for 4 nights now,
while it seems
the Moose has for his entire life.

I sip the tea, I wait for rest.

I've been thinking of you,

Just so you know.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Christmas 1995

I don't remember much of Thunder Bay
outside my fathers backyard.
He had about 50 acers and
We spent most of our time together out there.
I guess that's what men and fathers and sons
normally do.
I was usually fine with it but I was also lazy
and brought up with 3 overly cautious women so,
it was a change.
I
remember one morning looking out the guest room window
and seeing two bears outside,
the larger one was jet black the smaller (still big)
was a little lighter and climbing one of the old
trees about 30 feet from the window.
I could hear the dogs barking.
I ran out of the room and down the stairs yelling
DAD! DAD!!! there are BEARS outside!

BEARS!!!!!!!!

He was at the table. He looked at me like
for some reason I should have known this was no big deal,
that BEARS come on the property all the time.

'Drew, we do not yell like that in this house' he said,
in a tone I imagine god would use to freeze rain.

He said to make sure my boots were dry because we were going
Snowshoeing across the lake after breakfast,

I never ever wanted to take a step outside the house again.

or be in it.

Wednsday

Woke up around 2pm
Had toast and
Tea
For breakfast
Turned on the CBC
News.
Got dressed around 3:30pm-
Chose a couple
Books off the shelf,
A pad of paper,
A pen
And went down the street
To a coffee shop.
I wanted it to be less crowded.
Finished a cigarette outside,
Ordered a strong coffee
And sat down.
Skimmed the crowd.
Hoped I didn't know anyone.
Opened one of the books,
It got quiet
Then a crowd of people trudged in through
The door and brushed against my table with
Their coats and bags.
Glanced at some Wordsworth,
Thought I should give Pope some attention,
Setteled on Emily D.
And spent the next few hours being swept
Under the rug like the rest
Of the dust.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Goodnight, again

The morning walked in and slapped me in the face.
It was raw and tense and awkward,
Kind of like running into an ex lover.

The room flooded with light,

My eyes opened,
There was no turning back,
It was a sinking feeling,
Like realizing your dog had ran away,
Or passing a dead bird.

I did not want to be awake.

I contemplated sinking back under the covers but
The cat was awake now and hungry and purring
Loudly

I sat on the edge of the bed
Wondering what time it was
And thinking about breakfast or
Lunch,
Depending.

I tried to remember how I got home,
Where I left the car,
What I might have said to herrrr

Then reality slowly started swimming back to me like a dripping faucet,
And suddenly hit like a tidal wave,

I began to sweat.

I did not want to be awake.

It's hard to know which way to run,
When the escape becomes
What you're trying to escape from.

Friday, October 29, 2010

I started this blog a year ago today.
and as soon as she was here
She was gone,
My heart appeared, made a special
comeback

For a second,

For a moment.

Well, you son of a bitch,
Your grip has loosened.
You used to be so much stronger but
The
Distance has been wearing.

She was here and then she wasn't,
Simple, predictable pattern.

They were there now they aren't, who ever they are.

Truth is,

Friends are rarely friends,

Lovers rarely love.

The best thing to do is become conditioned to the elements.
Don't let that son of a bitch jerk you around in there,
Lock him out
And give those 'friends' and 'lovers' the key

Just to make sure he never gets back in.

Lyrics

I've got problems, man
I need to borrow some cash,
I've got problems, man
I need to get out of here fast

Now I'm hanging on a cross because I thought my brothers were
My brothers,
I never thought for the life of me we would have turned like this on
Eachother
I feel used and betrayed,
Thrown under the train,
We left eachother behind but I'm keeping the stage name
Because
I just need to know a band from here can make it,
While we've been trying so hard just to fake it.

I've been double crossed,
And I wish these walls could talk,
Because I still find it hard to believe
My best friends turned out to be my greatest enemies

Monday, October 25, 2010

We recover like fire
While
The old souls die
Like stalled cars
At yellow lights

They forgot their power

They forgot the fight

...

Drink up

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

well,

the 'love' was really nothing more than
a
broken trophy.

her heart,
just kind of a bending
branch.
reaching,
screaming for the
ground.

C'mon relax, baby.
roll back those
shoulders
and spread
those wings. (legs.)

while
the day and the dream lingers
like a thin fog
I
notice where the sun hits
and
where it doesn't ,
handing out shadows like gifts
and giving us our
shady figures,

it's beginning to feel like a
holiday. - maybe.
the neon
open signs down richmond
shine,
guiding stars
fighting through
the thin
lingering fog.

your eyes are open
and you know that
stop ignoring it
embrace it.

stop running away,
you runaway.

the fires been started,
now listen to the dogs fight.
i'm being played like a harp
by a group
of thieves,
with
one hand on
my wallet
and the other
pulling the
strings.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

i think i want to be in love with you

Thursday, October 14, 2010

I confused the bar lights for halos.
They made a bitch look like an angel,
She really knew how to
Play all the angles.

She had a laugh that cracked like a fire.

My arm is broken.

I'm 24.

I'm usually waiting.

Always waiting.

Never committing,

Never deciding,

Telling you and myself not to care.

Change? For suckers. Trying? Suckers.

Suckers.

All of them.
One day she'll send me back to god,
And maybe he can tell me what I want.

But for now I'll wait with the devil and the drinks
And let myself get confussed and blame it
All on the lighting.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Caarver
Digs at your heart like a pick axe.
No afternoons should be spent with red wine and a pick axe.
No,
Not in this state atleast.
Carver you gloomy bastard.
No,
Fante,
John is the way to go.
No nothing fits better
With the sun struggling to fill the pages
Through the slits in the blinds at 2:30
(third glass of..)
Then that son of a bitch
Bandini.
Bukouski just makes you want to
Quit and fight
But
Fante,
Bandini,
Allows the day to swim by
Like a dream.
And when you wake up,
Still broke
Still broken
Still here,
Your heart is still in tact,
And your face isn't busted,
And sure you may have to go out for more wine
But
At least you made it through Tuesday.
For some reason.
Will you get these prayers?
I made them weak for you
So they can
Bend around the clouds.
Like smoke from a cigarette,
Let the smell soak into your clothes
And take them with you.
Take me with you,
Before I start to stain
These walls.
Before the bottle runs out
And
Everything
Starts catching back
Up
To
Me.
Drunk yada yada yada typewriter


hello television
my glowing, one sided friend.
you can talk and talk and tell
me all about your stories
and characters,
but you won't give me a cigarette,
and you won't buy me a drink,
and even though I'm quite
content on listening and not talking,
I really want that drink.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Drunk things from my blah blah blah blah


a breath between sentences
fluttering like a hummingbirds wings
beautiful,
but
in the way I can tell
it's not the real thing.
kind of like that space
between the glass in the
frame and the
painting
Drunk things from my typewriter, from whenever ago

it has nothing to do with her
or my interest with her
or, more importantly my
interest with anyone else
it's just not in me,
my soul
left me for something else years
ago, probably
on a dog walk
or with my first girlfriend
or before my mom met that fat lunatic
or when my own father left me for a
another life beter then this.
innocence is given to you,
and others take it away-
it's never lost, someone steals it
and once it's gone you think you can steal
someones to get it back but you can't,
you just push yours further away
some silly fucked up cycle
that never gets better..

you can only see it in others
when you don't have it yourself
Drunk things from my typewriter

i'm sick of sex
and fucking, and even more
sick of being so sick of it
the only time i can give a good fuck
anymore is when i'm drunk
and that is a very delicate dance
between too many and not enough
now i feel old and creppid and lose
and falling apart like
a side table or a beaten down
family man without the family
and you can call
the beer left in the fridge lucky
runaways,
and you can call me
whatever you want.

just not whenever
you want.
I'm probably not asking
The right
Questions.

Fuck it.
Fuck it they just want attention.
If not from me
Then
From
You.
If not from you then
Your older brother
Or
Your father
Or best friend will
Do just fine.
Commitment is like a
Spider web,
Strong enough to catch
The weak ones
(yum)
But the smart know
Where to look
And the strong
We just
Fly
Right
Through.
big sleep



some girls need to be pointed
in the right direction
some boys are nothing but
crudely drawn maps
and i swear my 20s feel like
nothing more then a broken compass
and something like bad timing mixed with something like not trying
but
i'm lying
when i say i want things to change
(that's why i keep fucking up my own escape)

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Did a couple lines,
Had some fun with the steak knives,
Started as a fist fight,
Stared as a good time

And it looks like Jesse just fucked her,
And for a minute I almost feel bad for her
Because he came out laughing
And she came our wearing his
T-shirt,
But then I remembered.
The slut thinks she's a princess,
Shes trying so hard to run shit.
She only ever causes problems at the parties,
She bends at the hips and always
Ends up starring at the ceiling.
No, I don't feel bad for girls like these.
I'm sure secondplace feels pretty comfortable
By now.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

What happened to all those friends I used to have?

Tonight,
I just can't find the language-
My head feels like a mine,
Abandoned, depleted, hollowed from
Anything worth of value.
All that's left is the hide and seek game
Between the bats and falling rocks,

The treasure hunt is over,
The excitment is gone.

Now, what happened to all those friends I used to have?

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Detective

When
I
try
to tell her
she means everything to me
The words
run and hide like
Criminals
In
Unsolved mysteries
Wait for me,
Before you tie that knot
Any tighter
Because I need to believe,
You and me,
we're fighters.
I know everything is feeling like it's caved in
And we can't swim faster then we're sinking
But maybe things will work out,
And I think that kind of hope is worth
Waiting the worst out,
So just wait for me
Please,
Don't let a note be our last conversation.

Friday, August 6, 2010

lose dirt crowds the ground
like a
freshly used bed sheet,
ants
swim over foot prints
effortlessly as clouds
gliding through the
afternoon sky,

'the men you love will leave,
the girls you love
have left.'

one of those,
did i say that out loud?
moments.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

'32

I wish my Grandfather read
Fante,
maybe he did,
but a suspicion as large as
a beached whale tells
me he didn't.

What a man he was!
five children and a miscarriage-
a salesman with a heart
of a solider and as heavy
as gold bars,

but worth so much more.

I wish he knew,
I wish they all knew
of the honor of the 30's
of the temptation,
of the sacrifice.

of the screaming
money worries of home.

what a man he was!
such a man with 2 brothers
better off,
wealthy,
sort of respected but not
the way he was.

he asked for nothing and took
what he was given and
paid dearly for it.

never asked for more then what
someone else thought he was worth,
finished grade 7,
hair white as angels, as snow,
by 18.

I wish he could of read Fante! He would of understood!
I wish i could pass him the book and together
over coffee we would have one of our
slow decoded conversations!


but,
He made his choices and lived
proudly by them.

A man who alone could have done so much more,
so much better for himself!
traveled the world,
he could speak so easily to anyone
but,
like a beached whale,
he stood by his decisions
and slowly died by them,
one eye staring at the sea behind him.
telling himself to believe
it was all worth giving up.

Monday, July 12, 2010

as old as god

and the sun set like a crying child
and in my apartment door way
she was spitting up her bones
onto the door mat, and sometimes hitting
the screen door

and the grass and the
trees and
the squirrels
and the cat
we all looked at her anxious expression
carved in mortar, broken like porcelain
volcanic in attitude

and the crying stopped, in time for
the stars to whisper me a little
something,

advice from the universe
is so quiet sometimes-
so easy to mistake,

and i looked up and i looked down
and i noticed the same things,

those sparkly shining roses, dew on the
grass, stars in the sky

begging for an ending

Sunday, July 11, 2010

broken but not bbbbbrrookkeennn

we mimicked a battle -
the sorts where snow balls
melt in
your hand
and the grit and sand
pushes into your finger nails until
missions are
accomplished

when winning,
is like having your car broken into
only for the change in the ashtray,

i kissed her neck for a few minutes
and re assured her
the whores are anything but
an inspiration

she kissed me back
the way
trees in her back yard shake off the rain
hours after everything else seems dry
drunk things from right now


sand castles

i'm pretty sure it's those
few years apart
that keep echoing
back and forth between us,
you want me to be a castle
but i'm nothing
more then the crest
of a wave
about to hit the shore-
a sudden rush
that explodes into
nothing
a
quick reminder
most of us change, sure
but its the ones
who cant
you should keep your eye on

we live once

why waste it on each other?
cat fight

she fills up
my glass with
ontario red
like tossing
coins into a wishing well
while
the cats
dance
like a high school fist fight
at our feet
and one jumps onto
the bed
and the other
onto the organ,
back to the bed
and then outside,
she pours me
another glass of red
and asks
another question
i don't
want to
answer
and we start to dance
like a bar fight
and
she jumps onto the bed
and pushes me into
the organ,
back to the bed
and
then outside
feed your friends

arriving home
at 1:19 am
from the out
of town
birthday party show
our band played
in the back
yard
for,
there is no note
from her
in the mailbox
or at the door,
but the black
cat
was waiting
like an old steady friend,
sitting
infront of my front step
as if to say,
i noticed you were
gone,
even if no
one else
did

Monday, July 5, 2010

i would like to start over, please.


coffee from the
coffee chain
beside the apt
boils and gurgles
in my stomach
like a bank robbery
in progress
while behind the counter
girls take
frozen meat
frozen buns and bagged
tomatoes
and stack sandwiches together
like packing
boxes full of unwanted belongings
ready for the curb

"we're under new management'
the puke with the
name tag tells
me,
while another after noon
quietly dies
as i spill
coffee
all over his
casket

Saturday, June 26, 2010

what the teachers see

too nice
reads
boring,
classmates
kiss behind
(the)
portables
and in
(the) corners of (the) soccer field(s)
whispering
like roots to
the soil
planting
seeds of lust,

digging themselves
deeper
and deeper
waiting
to
grow
alone in the morning


the stray cat we found
looks at me as if to say
'why are you still here?'


being at the right place at the
right time,
can make magic happen


and the wrong places,
about the same

but when the cat
gives you that look,

like he's done it-

you wonder how
he has it so easy.

and
maybe it's because
he
found suckers
like
us
from an ally on richmond st.

3 drunk men stumble out
the richmond st tavern

their shadows
attack the pavement like
a pack of
starving wolves,

as the rain falls through them

invisible
hollow
willing to do
anything
bands


anxious
with inconvenience
they
invade the stage,
something close
to a
coupe
while audience
members
drool

like soft dug holes
souls made from mud
ready to collapse in on themselves
at any moment

jumping around
as if
grasshoppers
trapped inside
an aquarium

fat faced singers
stroll sluggish around the floor

pitiful
and washed up like
pollution on a beach

jealous enemies we find,
stealing what they cant have

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

on the couch, before the show


i'm going to sing in this
apartment
with my
band behind me
with incredible back pain
shooting up my spine

every time i take a
step
it feels like
landing on a
jelly fish
and i
bet
that's
how it's going
to feel
like
watching
me
once friends,
now in
friendly fire,
cats scratched
the couch
between
insults,
fine china
flew
threw the room
like lost
birds
blowing up
like grenades
at contact
the whiskey
soaked fog
spews
from his mouth like
fire,
pathetic answers
arranged like smoke signals,
timed out and paced
dissipate through
the room,
and out the windows

the smell soaks into the carpet

another wedensday
another war
another casualty
due to friendly fire

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

tired prayers bending for the clouds

like bones breaking
in a lifeless
body
without
piercing the
skin,
the
last secret
movements (of a man)
ache like
whispers to god,
a little
like the sound
of
floor boards creaking
outside
your bedroom,
when you're
all alone,
where
I rest
like ghosts skin,
laying in
the sheets
that he
slept
in

while 3 blocks
away
they carry him
into the ground
two black cats
meow at the door
one inside
and one outside
looking
through the screen window
into eachothers faces
making eye contact
then looking away
2 male black cats
one a stray and one
a loved part
of the family
they fight and
wont come near each other
and come
back to apologize,
lovers quarrels
come in many
shapes and sizes
as he
purrs his apology
and i let him
back
into the house
where the money goes

it tops the glass
up
and helps to forget the
day-
more so
on weds nights;
(the mid week
needs as much
strength as
can be
mustered)

on weds
cats scratch at
your eye lids
and piss in your mouth,
and your boss
fucks
your girlfriend,
your mother,
you,
while better days
flash like race cars
through the mind
and you find bullets
or hose
or rope
or pills
and think

where
did
this life go?

same place
as
the
money.
possessions

downtown
the dogs
on leashes
are
connected to collars
connected to necks
and
connected to hands
and sometimes
to trees...
while their owners walk
inside
coffee shops to get coffee,
or beer, magazines, movies,
and their one sided conversations
sit
tangled in rope,
gifts to the scenery-
laying on the ground
like a stained shirt,

but sometimes
passing by
it feels like
my parachute broke
and they are all watching me
from the ground
up

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

listening to the radio,
changing stations on the car radio
it's broken but she doesn't
even notice,
thinks its just part of the recording,
says i never really listen when i'm sober
but sometimes for good tracks
i have to pull over
when i'm hungover,
it's just part of the lifestyle i'm trying ta maintain
i'm always half here and half running away

Friday, May 28, 2010

missing teeth


talking about
"what the thunder said"
miming
poetic conversation,
hydro's been cut
debt collectors
can no longer
call my telephone
as is has been
cut
too
the computer runs
on battery power
and when the battery
dies
the
typewriter takes over
blooming
tennyson lines,
like
cowardly wolves
in sheepskin
saying;
there is little left,
for you and I to do.
poor


are we poor?
i used to ask my mother
when
i couldn't have the goodies
i would like

and she would say, no ofcourse not

and i would get my goodie

she would say
don't tell your grandmother about \this or
she will
have a bird!
or sometimes
SHE WOULD HAVE A COW!

and i was to young to
understand
metaphors
and exaggeration
so I would
picture grandmother
with a bird on her shoulder
yelling

why did you buy all those goodies!!

and now,
my mother
works and her husband doesn't
and i ask,

are you doing ok mother?
with money?

and shes yes, oh yes it's fine
things are ok

and i ask to borrow
for rent
and she says
cash or cheque

and then tells me about her third mortgage on
the same house

poor i guess,
is different from
debt i think to myself
and
picture my grandmother
having a bird
on her
shoulder
as
mother asks
whose name to
to write
on the
cheque
the water works, but the hydro
doesn't and hasn't
for 3 days

i thought it would be worse then it is
the hardest part
was the anticipation
of the lights not coming on

not just the hardest but the
most exciting

and the day that they didn't
I
missed the rush,
more then the light

Thursday, May 13, 2010

waking up golden, good morning

ya,
confident and sold it
when you wake
up to
the pillows
on the floor in the morning
and the windows
shine
golden
through
the cries
of
alone men
sentences
monotone
and shortened
shes the one
that stole it
turned me
from
asshole
to
boyfriend
and
i've
never enjoyed it

more

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

single mothers lyrics

saturday night and sunday morning

she had the house to herself and
didn't know how to roll it,
so i showed up saturday night
and left sunday morning
said I got something real important,
she said I got more and it's
imported

i rent a mail box in michigan
where the details aren't recorded

i recognized the name from
the papers
but they never showed a picture
said she was pretty scared for a while
when he got out on good
behavior
heard
it was a personal favor,

said he finds the strings and get
his friends to pull
them later

I'd show up saturday night
and leave sunday morning
we made it a routine for
a few weeks
the details aren't important
she said i gotta hit Denver,
as soon as his probation's over
asked if i wanted to come,
but knew i couldn't cross the
boarder
she said it's over
it's not you it's the court order

now Denver's got a hold of her
and I can't get a hold of her

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

begging


you can take his worst and put it against my best
and he will still win,
finding the lazy passion
the unforgiving terms
the love in
bricks and pollution
the simple joys i don't see
poems that
sting like poison
into
dreams of young
good for nothing
assholes
she said something along the lines of

loving you is like
putting knives
in a microwave

all those sparks are there
but ya, it's predictable,
you know?

a recipe

then the power goes out

Friday, April 16, 2010

getting ready to go out

"i really like your gray hairs" she say's
"i'm into older men, i always have,
not in a

weird way.

i just think they are sexy"

"i only notice grays on the one side
of my head,
maybe that's my sexy side" I say.

"no, there are more. all over."

maybe i just see what I want,
or maybe she does.
________

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

everyone's mad at me
everyone always seems mad at me
i can see it through
their smiles and through
the spaces in their teeth

slivers from the good deeds

they're always mad at me

Friday, April 9, 2010

yep.


yeah,
i'm sure you were a model
just like she was,
and she was and she was
and i'm sure you quit
because you didn't like
it,
splintering
with the floorboards
fraying with the
fabrics
complaining about the
stove
drapes shut and door locked
the pills take one pain away and
cause another but she takes them all
anyways,
she really wants to stay alive
for some reason.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

the afternoons glide by


picking the cold beer from off the table
opposed to the empty,
hour old, day old, week old
cans taking up residence
is the game being played.
mandatory
and fulfilling.
I am the winner,
always, sooner or later.
it seems sad to write
but not to live.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

debt

drunk things from my typewriter

then the thunder hits,
fits like a mosaic
while we
stumble through
the sunset
loving the living
but adoring the
cloudiness

i like smoking
she likes
lighting the
cigaretts

Friday, February 26, 2010

drink things from my typewriter

we're all better in smaller
doses
i thought,
but shes not.
She's better in the hung
over mornings
and the strung out
days
and the walks in the parks
when maybe i want
to hold
hands and
she doesn't
and that's ok.
in the pews
and the stained glass
and the 4am meows
at the door.
she's better in the sheets and early mornings.
she's becoming my fingers
on the keys,
she's becoming that
sunrise
my eyes once thought
i didn't want to see.
drunk things frommy typewriter

Gentlemen,
silence can be the
difference
between a
win or a loss (used right)
stay calm, stay quiet,
rely on ignorance,
it rarely knows
when it's lost.
It's a fragrance,
it's a poll
left up to the last vote.
It's the pollen in a flower
in the kitchen window.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

drunk things from my typewriter

Ireland, I think
we could be friends,
if we got to know
each other better,
have a few drinks just by ourselves.
I've been on your beaches
and with your woman
and in your bars
but you and i
we never seemed to really
get any alone time,
to actually get to know
one another

and since you gave me
my father
and my fathers father
and my fathers fathers father
and his mother,
and her mothers mother
maybe you could give
me a few tips
on how to get them
to loan me
money
single mothers

Baby, we’ve seen a lot tougher times then
These,
She’s burning through money faster then
kerosene
She said
I was pulling up my skirt
Then
I was scrapping up my knees
In between
The motorbikes and epitaphs
And names in the
Obituary

I said,
‘oh you don’t say..’

She put the money in the glove box
And got a Kleenex for the nose bleed

I think it it’s time to get outta this city,
I think its time we blow this scene

Friday, February 19, 2010

drunk things from my typewriter

family


I’d run away,
We’d hit each other
Ya nothing too much just playing
Tough guys
Well, I was the tough guy,
just living, just surviving in the house
With demons and fat men
And a woman that used to be a woman
And I stole their liquor and drank on their roof
And would break in when they went away
Ya it was a team game, I was always outnumbered
But I walked miles
And miles in the middle of
Winter they would never walk
Never have
that hate
Never see the view through a bottle on the roof
Or spend a night in a cell
With so much disgust in your blood,
You
could
almost confuse it with
Love
drunk things frommy typewriter


something about decades
and children and children songs
news casts and authors
and writers with loversss
something like a drunks sunrise
something likesecondplace
drunken things from my typewriter

9 beers


it's something like
hide and seek,
waiting to see
what we see in eachother
drunk things from my typwriter

christmas party


they stand and they dance and they
talk
with hand gestures
and ddddrunken eyes
tapping along with the beat-
how interesting
they converse
like ants
crowding around
crumbs
sad but excited,
like
they finally found something
after scrounging on the
floor for so long
drunk things from my typewriter



shots to death


i felt dead and
well, that's alright.
i'll try not to offend.
maybe you can smell it but
probably
you can't.
some call it a gift
like being able to train a dog.
give your death
some
sort
of
discipline.
sit and stay and eat
when your food is on
the floor.
i smell you
i know you
spilling and staining
curdling the food in my stomach
we know each other
you, and i
so don't forget
and talk to me not as a stranger
but as a friend.
drunk things from my typwriter



FRIENDS, LOVERS, FRIENDS



a little less talk
isn't always that bad
a few nights apart
some yards
between
some words left
in the throat in the cave
in the wishing well
i see the wolves
she sees the kittens
the lions, the cubs.
drunk things frommy typwriter

titles

If we go it will be together
And the hair cuts and the tooth aches
And the hydro bills
They will all arrive in stride
And we’ll sit and watch the
The neighbours through our living room
Window
And park the car at the back of the lot
Just to make sure no one
Bumps the doors, with their doors
And I’ll grade papers
And she’ll cut carrots
And when I start thinking of these lives
Between drinks and bills
And grandparents
And stolen cable
And mortgages and love
And king size mattresses
And MORE parents -
How is this desirable?

Hank had it right,
Suffer a while,
Drink a lot,
Marry in your 60’s
Die at 74
(it all comes in stride)
But you should only love
One thing right,
At a time.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I’m getting tired of the morning always coming
and the holes in the boat
but never drowning

Monday, February 8, 2010

somtimes grammar gets in the way of the message

Friday, January 29, 2010

Take some breaths,

the string section overcoming
The woodwinds
And the brass tucked away
Under the cover
of quarter notes
and
Peaking in and out of the
chorus
Sit tight,
My friends,
And don’t forget
We know each other
And we’re all in this together
In the pit
And in the air
And in the tulip and
in the bee

but we can sit here together
At dinner, listening to Bruckner
Miming conversation
Our family tied and knotted
Our family disguised and
Splintering
Conducting,
conversations
like we're
def in the
orchestra pit

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

I like the way she looks in every thing.
Her hair falls wonderfully and almost
All of her hobbies and
Interests are foreign
And exciting to me,
We laugh and we sleep and we
Eat and we drink
And it starts feeling natural
Like stained glass in windows
For being so close, for so long.

Monday, January 25, 2010

I don’t get the guys that write about
The girls and
The rain
And the love
And the lonely nights
and their broken hearts
What the fuck
Do you think
You are going
To improve
Writing words that add up
To weakness and embarrassment?
The ones who like
To read about weakness
Are the weak
The ones who write it
Are boring -
Get betrayed
And survive it
Leave the love letters to Plath
atleast
she had the follow through

dark bacardi

Maybe that’s the way they did things
Or maybe it wasn’t. I couldn’t remember
How these situations were
Supposed to go.
There were some wet palms
And some pills
And some money
And some things on the table that
We all tried to ignore
For as long as possible until
The night crept up and something
Had to be done,
Glances exchanged and the smiles
Continued but they
Curled on the faces a little harder,
Or a little softer depending
And through the window across from
The table you could see some rabbit
Tracks in the snow and then some
What looked like
cat tracks
Going across the lawn and under the
Neighbours front porch and then
Just the cat tracks coming out a few
Feet to the left
And I know I wasn’t the only one to notice
And wonder whos tracks were going
To be coming out
Of here
last
or who's went in first
so we just sat
and waitited
and
smiled.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

don't try

The bathroom counter has been cleaned and all the clutter
Put in the drawers and underneath the sink.
She’s good at organizing and complaining
And wanting to know about all the
Hurt going on in
Others lives
It’s all she wants to talk about
She loves to own their pain and
Apologize for it
Like it came from her prayers
Or she didn’t do enough to help
And she could have made
Things better, somehow.
But one day I’m going to
Be going through the bathroom
Drawers she’s organized and
Clearing out all the toothbrushes
And mirrors and soaps
Like a dog scrounging
Or a tin man looking for a soul
And then maybe all I’ll want
To hear about is everyone’s pain
Or better yet never
have to hear
About it again

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Them thanggggggggs
And thunder bay oh man
I remember the winters and awkward
Christmas’s up there
I remember the christmas tree
Was always so much nicer and the presents and there was never a huge
Mess or any stress
Just kind of an awkward disposition
Between him and I and her and I
Not really negative just different
Books and conversation and no one
Yelled ever just a stern tone that made
My spine cease and my heart fall
Into my stomach
But now that I’m older I’m catching that tone
Like a net catching all the butterflies
That should have never made it past
Caterpillars
And I never tried and I wont
And I don’t want you to think I’m trying now
And that’s why I should have never made
It out of that cocoon
And he knows it and I’m starting to
Know it too

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

If it wasn’t for porn I don’t think I could ever be faithful
And if it wasn’t for alcohol I would never
Meet anyone

Sunday, January 10, 2010

15 minutes of movements.
Probably a little less actually
And the sheets are all over and the pillows
Are on the floor
And I think I heard her call it
A few different things
But I never put a
Claim to it
Just kept moving and telling
Her to shut up
I’m not about the theatrics

i think i got rid of most
of the ants
but i probably didnt

Friday, January 8, 2010

four minute mile

After about 6 drinks the words start slipping
And the instincts take over
The smiles the
Jokes
The girls that laugh
Just to show
Off their pearl white
Teeth anything really
To get their
Mouth some attention
And I’m all for it
For the lust
And the hazy passion
The attention
All the shadows in the bar light.
Then after 9 drinks the words
Start really slipping
The malt liquor on my breath
Replaced by her gin
And it all makes sense
How drunks fall in love
How we can escape into someone else
Into shot glasses and fucks
That mean something in the moment
And when we wake up
knowing and not knowing the person
Laying in your bed taking up your space
we go on with our day
understanding this is how drunks love
Fucking in the morning if the buzz
Is still going
and
All the wrong words said the right way.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

i'm trying to hard

The same sun sets on all of us
The singing birds
The boisterous rich
And the muted poor
The same winter wind chills
Through our feathers and our coats
Cuts and interrupts
Our wings and our bones-

The birds around my house
Sing through the snow fall.
Same as the summer rain
And
Fog riddled Autumn eves.

Same trees
Bigger nests and smaller nests
Shade and leaves then open,
Frigid air

And I wonder if these
winter songs would
Be sung
In a closed cage in a warm house,
Where the seasons are just scenery
From a window at a calm 22 degrees
Without any struggle, without any fight
Without any
Victory

comfort is different for all of us
i realize that atleast
Some strive for cages and warmth
as others strive
For windy nests in empty trees.
lusting after routine
or a new wind to seduce their wings.


I thought of this all while pulling my car into the garage.
Then I carried in the groceries
turned up the heat a bit
put the television on,
Ate a cheese sandwich.
looked at my wife as she closed
the door behind me


and realized

they wouldn't
sing a
note

Monday, January 4, 2010

ants

I cant find where these ants are coming from
I tore the living room apart
Moved all the couches
The coffee table
My guitars
My books
My stereo
Everything into the middle of the room
Swept
All the little ant bodies
I crushed with my slipper
Up into the dust pan
Turned on both my lamps and surveyed the room
Keen like a hawk.
No sign of them slipping through the cracks,
Where the wall meets the floor
No sign of them at all,
Looks like they retreated.
But the next night I walk in after the bar
And there they are
Like a big stain on the floor, all huddled around a cornel
Of popcorn
And so I stomp them out again
With my slipper
A soft but painful death I’m sure
And survey the room like before
But no signs of entry.
they're just...there.
And its not like they’re really hurting anything-
Just living off my food
And my rent
And my apathy
And it got me thinking
About
My last 3 ‘girlfriends’
and
How my
best friend
probably
ended
up
a
Dad
and how we all
must seem
like ants from time to time
under the floorboards, waiting