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

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

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

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

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

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