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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]