tired eyes sad eyes and burning that causes me to rub them out.

UNCONSCIENCE / UNBOLD / subconscious / untold

do not let go of my hand, for i am
swept away without you, and i am
always in myself, and i am
alive for you, and i am
dying slow, and i am
in love.

BOUNDING FROM TABLE TO CHAIR TO COUNTER TO STAIRS ON TO MY BACK AND ROLLING OUT THE BACK DOOR OF THIS HOME

CLAIM ME CLAIM ME CLAIM ME I AM HERE

this internet is a funny thing that seemingly keeps us connected. when in truth i would need your cheek beside mine for you to hear me and understand what i am trying to do. i would need to hold you and remember you, have you remember me. and that would not be fake like this. that would not be difficult.

SHELFLIFE / TOO LONG / health life / a quiet song

your eyes betray you and say the words you thought you had destroyed. you are shaking.

5

there was always an epic beat in my head. i could hear it fall from the trees, off the hills, riding the air fearlessly. i could feel it in my legs, my knees and thighs discovering rhythm... and in my chest. always in my chest. a thumping that calls you out and builds you up. once it gets rolling it doesn't stop. it attaches itself to your very being. all i would feel was my heart destroying its frame, and the next pounding stride towards nowhere, and i would keep on rolling because i didn't have any choice. i had to run further.

:

- how bout we start over?
- how?
- i dunno. we'll just start over. begin again.
- okay...umm.
- let me.
- okay.
- hi... i'm tommy. what's your name?
- kim.
- ... what are you doing out here?
- waiting for it to snow.
- you think it's gonna snow?
- oh, most definitely. look at the sky.
- you might be right. where are you from?
- hamilton.
- cool... have you ever thought about killing yourself?
- ... tom.
- what?
- is that relevant?
- very.
- you know the answer already.
- no i don't. we just met.
- alright. the answer is yes.
- and...
- ummm, yes i've done that, but i don't anymore. it was a long time ago.
- oh, that's good. i'm glad.
- me too.
- well, it's nice to meet you then.
- i don't deserve a second chance, tom.
- everyone deserves a second chance. the only problem is you're up to four or five.
- yeah.

--------------

- we're going to hell in a handbasket.
- what's a handbasket?
- not sure, but it's cozy, and warm... and we like it in there.
- really? even if we're going to hell?
- maybe it's more like a passenger jet.
- what is?
- we're going to hell in a huge airplane. super fast.
- i don't like flying.
- i know you don't. but this flight isn't optional. we're all going.
- can i sit with you?

january and rainy days and floods

i stand in the rain.
wash me away- disassemble me.
like sand castles in the waves,
slowly deteriorating,
and the footprints that head off down the beach.
rain, eat me for breakfast,
and see how i breathe.

------

open up your door and welcome in the flood.
because no one will believe you.
none will understand.

4

I am a cloud hanging effortlessly, or so it seems, in an unopened sky. The perfect observer, an innocent bystander. Meaningless migration from one horizon to the next. And now I am raining. Thick, heavy drops that become oceans on the earth. Kids splash in me, lovers swim in me. They remove their clothes and see each other with wide eyes, exposing themselves. Suddenly I am a pelican, rising and diving into salty pools to get fish. I have no fish in my mouth, though. Pelicans don’t have mouths. But I have a mouth… because I am a person. A human being. Just a regular boy. I don’t know what I was thinking just then. I wasn’t thinking, because that’s what you do when you’re trying to fall asleep, you stop thinking. And then strange things happen because there is no such thing as not thinking. You can’t turn yourself off, just hope for sleep to get the better of you when you let your guard down. But sleep won’t take me tonight. And that’s all I want, for this day to be over so I can wake up tomorrow and try again. And the longer I lie awake the more frustrated I become. Maybe I am the sea after all.

3

The buildings enfold our park. All alike in height and shape, all brown. The diamond is familiar to us, and friendly. It is our territory to defend, gravel scattered with sunflower seed shells. Our hands clutch the chain link fences with excitement. There is a coming and going of spectators. Some I know, they might call my name and wave from on top of their hill. And others I don’t recognize. They call other names.
It is hot. The air becomes still on summer days in the city, afraid to move. It makes us afraid to move, humidity drenching our foreheads, concrete absorbing the heat and firing it up towards us. There is nowhere to hide. We silly baseball players, dressed in layers, pants to prevent disfiguration to the knees, claustrophobic in the sun’s rays. I might let go of the fence for a moment, place some ice under my hat, and return to the constant shouting of my team. But I won’t look at the sun. I won’t acknowledge it, for fear of going blind. We just anticipate the next pitch, ignoring the ongoing discomfort of our summer.

coward

so that when we are surrounded on all sides by darkness
and wrapped up in questions like,
"why?" and "how do we fix this?"
you will still have a love deep within you that cannot be tamed.
although it may be difficult to locate.
and i will say something like,
"we are out of practice." or "i'm not in love with our world."
"not with myself, not with most people that i encounter,
but a few that pierce me, like you,
with a strange and everlasting quality.
and that will always remain."
so that our faces will burn in fever
when that inevitable darkness finds us.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

i want to wear my heartbreak with pride.
you can't take my loveless from me.
-------you can't take my late nights.
--------------so let me have them.
just take a sip of my hot chocolate,
(that was a giant sip)
and let me be with my meaningless dreams.
----------creative self-destruction?
-----nah, just creative.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,

broom. zoom. now my kitchen floor is clean.
peanuts with chocolate milk.
changing. up-staging...arranging ourselves.
re-arrange the couches
and suddenly that wall talks.
it's never spoken before, and man how excited it is.
so i fell asleep in a different living room
and dreamed of a boy and a window
that looked out onto nothing.
and i woke up to find peanuts all over my clothes.
damn. not again.
get serious for a second.

,,,,,,,,,

iamcomingthroughthefog
andiseeyourunningaway
coward
stayandfacemestayanddiscuss
themanytimesthatyouhaverun
andthemanytimesthatareyettocome
coward

k ready to go now.

oh just be.
and then we will all depart together
into salty waters and touching skin.
we will be reborn with young hope,
the days turning back to greet us.
our past mistakes displayed and destroyed,
offered to Oxygen with most sincere apologies...
and as ourselves,
we will laugh and drink and plan
for tomorrow.
together.

breathe shallow

introductions necessary
because none of you know me.
and yet i stand before you, speaking...
"what a bother" you think.
"i wish this guy would shut the fuck up".
so where do i start?
my name? my name is tommy.
like the rock opera... only quieter.
there. did that change anything?
just a word... labeling nothing.
or do you know me now?

---------

we are in the halls.
striding past the truth.

--------

fast forward_
shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy
shimmy shimmy shimmy
shimmy
break__
word. true that.
i'm tired___

-------------------------

FOR THOSE WHO ARE SICK WITH LOVE- TAKE SHALLOW BREATHS

2

here's something i've learned about myself, and i'm not sure if i like it or not. i use emotion, i let it control me. i write the same way as i run... from the guts, and from the heart. you can't teach someone how to live life with heart. probably just as well, because it can become a handicap.

in a carnivorous world, the strong remain disconnected... whereas i invest myself in small things. in other people. it's a weakness to rely on emotion.

1

a result of my inability to explain myself. explain how i feel... how i work on the inside. a painful inability to put things into words. you want to describe how your thoughts work, and why they are important, but when you try... it just rolls out in the terms of everything that has gone in, been put into you... influenced you throughout your life. and those are not your terms. it's frustrating when you can't explain yourself effectively. limiting.

i could have changed the world. someone just like me will... i have no doubt of this. they do... they are trying every day. if applied properly, i could have done something of meaning. i could be a hero, an icon... maybe it's not too late. you can do anything that you want to, they tell you.

maybe that's the problem with me, that i don't want to do anything. i'm so proficient at wasting time. but i'm smart... and i learn fast. so how come i remain so indifferent? passive. where is my sense of urgency to change the world? to do something meaningful... to rise to a challenge. where is my motivation to be the man i could be? no one is shooting at me... maybe that's the problem.

for tara on her birthday

what's one more year?
we're so blurry, you and i.
when you wake, rise in the mornings...
do you ever really wake?
and for that matter, do you ever rest?
we are losing sleep, and with it, dreams,
and we forget things that should never be forgotten.
small things.

well, i've been up there. to the north.
to forgotten land. untouched by hands like ours.
seen the devastated blocks of our province.
clear-cut. devoured.
and the swamps that remain.
cemeteries of hope.
hope that we shove back in to the earth
in the form of ten cent saplings,
over and over in futility.
i walked off the land aware of the possibility
that no one will walk where i just walked
for a hundred years... if ever.

and i thought of you. many times.
hours every day.
how our tragedies develop rings within them.
rings of knowledge. sadness, what have you.
how we grow roots but they don't dig deep.
they don't hold on tight.
because we know we will have to tear them up
sooner or later, and they sense our indifference.
and i thought of friendship.

and now i think of how one day
we will be discovered, the way we truly are.
hiding.
men will come and mark us... with x's.
like the trees by the river,
we will sit and wait our turn.
and eventually we will be cut.
and as they do it they will find your rings.
and then they will know heartbreak,
the humour and leadership you embodied
will become evident...
the happiness.
they will learn from you as i have.
and they might say 'happy birthday'
as they saw our tiny existence into chunks,
and hand them over to history.

but know that i would be proud
to fall alongside you,
the same way we have risen.
because that is what friends do.
and in the mornings, even if i never truly wake,
i feel our roots touching,
becoming entangled
underneath the concrete we live on.

bzz.

zip. you've stung me.
you are a bee... not bumble...
and i am a soft-skinned,
chubby little kid,
with grass-stained knees
and squishy arms,
perfect for stinging...
and you got me.

cheers.

to the end of the line. to you. come on, fall apart with me. what? i can't hear you. hey look! panda!

psha.

- how did you like it?
- which one?
- the museum of modern art.
- oh, it was good... we spent several hours there.
- i could have spent an entire day there.
- i don't know... after a certain length of time, standing in front of art... walking around... art, proclaimed and recognized, staring so deliberately... after a while it becomes meaningless. all of it.
- really?
- i go numb... i daze out. it all blurs together.
- maybe you were tired. you're always tired.
- no, if anything i was too awake... wide awake.

.............

- i walked by your house the other night.
- what? when?
- i don't know. a little while ago.
- why didn't you stop by?
- it was late.
- how late... i would've been up...
- nah... it was really late.
- well, whatever.
- i thought about calling to see if you were awake, but i was pretty drunk. and paul was with me.
- oh.
- we were kind of stumbling home. i led us on to your street.
- haha. why?
- to show him.
- show him what?
- i think i said something like, "you see that house? that's where the most beautiful girl lives... right there." or something like that. it was stupid.
- that's funny.
- ... why is it funny?

[x]

our bodies are not ours.
wet,
you rain on to me,
completely in control.
your hands bending me
towards you.
... and then i feel you.
feel nothing just for a second.
only moisture,
where before there was just desert.
sand dunes and sun
and me walking in them.
you have come in to the frame,
onto my stomach.
and will never disappear
from the darknesses of my mind.
at night
with eyes closed,
and thoughts clear,
your hands are still moving on me,
my mouth
still searching for yours.
and i know that my body is not mine,
but half
of an entwined figure
from my dreams,
rising and falling
gently
in a careless passion
that we named love.

newyear

if you want a piece of me...
you know where to find me.

[just ask]