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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

I wanted to sail the sea,
but i became an anchor,
now my chains rusty and weak,
and my few few friends are starting to
see it in me,

they're all going to leave.
my hearts pointing north,
but my feet are heading east

and i see the shore,
but i'm not sure
it's the shore,
that i'm looking for.

both gifts we give, shed to ours departed.

How deep;
You, and the ocean sink,
While golden gates assume;
Eternal rust. Isolation in
Jubilance, through blackened streets,
Once shadows and webs-
A dust settled rose;
How admired.
Wince wings of wax,
My lover flows, higher.
Breathless bodies, deep and slow
I among the sleepless (sinking) slaughter.

playing house

So many secrets we share,
Groomed by glances and soft,
Small smiles.
Tucked deep away, hidden by our
Vocabulary of weak knees, quick nods and
rosy cheeks,
How I wish I had a lover whom never had to hear me speak.
Who’s kisses, not unlike a sunrise call for
Drapes to be drawn,
Who’s eyes invoke chapters, inspire stanzas
But read only mine.
While heavens glands may soak into the sea to breathe,
As I glance, she reads
My Dear, after me.