hot air balloon

i am bright and impractical
held together by ribbon bows

with open pout
i blow winds,
warm from circling the suns that light my way back home

I am swollen belly and weighted feet
heavy with promise and thick skinned from letting go


i am swaying and wishing
this length of time could be long enough
to rope all those days when we were
close
when forever didn't seem long enough

I am swollen belly and weighted feet
waiting for my last ribbons release

oceans at your feet

had i not imagined it
thought about
dreamt of
bent fingers,
cupped hands
left hand soft againt right
holding a puddle
holding an ocean
it would be perhaps
as simple as
pressing my mouth to your wrist
leaning my head back
it would be perhaps that simple

but i want it so badly
that i wait
until i see you walk away with
oceans at your feet
walking through all of it
with fingertips
with eyes
like open salty taps

between the bars

You were the rain
like a hush
pulling my eyes to lower
and my yawns a flutter
You're voice.
still at my breast slammed against my ribs
like a caged animal
throwing itself towards the open spaces between
the bars
It was hard to know
if you wanted in.
or out.
i was always there
you were
everywhere

love birds

we have love covered
from toe to throat
in feathers, rags and braided hair
wrapped in everything our fingers reached
as fat as over ripe fruit
bursting at the seams with the weight of the words
between us


we skin vows to wear as armor
and stride with peacock pride
along the edges of our quiet nest
no longer afraid
of falling prey
to one anothers majesty

paper tiger

You're every page on my desk
every long punishing sentence
I play the passing thought
fitting myself in between "feed the dog"
and "world events"

a typo
in your on goings
a giant spoon
stirring a scripted text
a hiccup
in your day to day

You are
every book on the shelf
ya pretty much every thing ever written
the smooth of the leather in my hand
the letters in my hand
the chalky paper on dry skin

you're even the breeze
offered by page
meeting page
meeting page

You are the cross on every T
the dot on i's
the tail on g's
the arc on e's
and the roll in r's

I speak your verbs like songs by heart
lips curled round your nouns
dancing to the beat of your similes
tapping my feet to metaphors
swooning for your adjectives

you keep this up
keep my interest
it even starts to feel
like years sqeezed into the hands of minutes
mi-nute min-ute hands

time and time
again
I stop to lie
in blankets sewn edge to edge
with the words you left behind

Nights pass
forever,still here
but i am still
wide awake
tossing and turning syllables like stones
hoping they might have been left for me


here i wait
speechless and jaw to the floor hungry
for your mouth

hmm..

who's voice is echoing inside my belly
why is it leaning against the wall
like a cool kid butting out a smoke
why is it here at all
intimidating me with its swagger
and laissez faire flare

I wish now that my belly had sunglasses
..so it could
slyly look away
and pretend to not give a care

You should be like the air around me
or not at all
its no use having you
so far away
opening and closing doors that im on neither side of

instead it would be nice
if you were reading or drawing or singing in the kitchen

instead it would be nice
if you hadn't made me love you at all

Because then I'd be out with my girlfriends
leaning against walls
handling cocktails
and trying not to get kissed too soon

Not like now
in bed by 10,
smoking weed
eating popcorn
listening to cbc
and not thinking about you at all..
not even once.
no.

tear sheet

Because you are all I need
Because I would be willing to compile
All my hours all my days
Fold them up in a box with your name
Neatly engraved on the lid

Because I give it all away
In the hopes that you’ll share it with me
Because its mine to give

I have turned this past year
a whitish pulp
of milky blankness
Flattened by my own
Lonesome hours

I have turned this past year
a blanket of nothing
muffling the memories
of everything else
that ever was
before there was you


I cannot hear the sound of
Any voice but yours
I cannot speak of any name but yours

I will lie in store a few days more
Awaiting your touch
To crumple, crease or cut
Or sweat into rivets
a few more drops of your self

Maybe in a little while
Once night has finished falling
You’ll arrange the words you plucked from trees
upon my unmarked skin
Those lovely words
seeped in sun kissed sap

That way you say
I'll know of your days and night

You’ll speak deliberately in long winded prose
I'll let you Lullaby me further
and further
To love

There are times

when your skin and my skin
are so close its like they
want to breath together

from time to time
we succumb
to these moments of short sighted melding
of apparent company
of togetherness...

this makes
the reality of imminent solitude
that much harder to live inside of

until at last the day comes
when our arms tell of far off
places
while we exhale every pore
and stand, out of breath,
exhausted and weary from the possibility
of ever more
ever mores


I have walked hand in hand
in hand in hand
in soft hand in upper hand in rough hand
in backhand,left hand, right hand
in warm hand and in off hand
along side men
men who's names escape me now
men
who's bodies once felt like my own
My own heavy burden of redeeming qualities
My shell of depreciating antiquity

I have walked along side such men
wishing you were real enough to stop
the senseless
search of bus stops and restaurants
the exploration every strangers gaze
in the hopes of one day meeting yours

first short story for creative writing class

I had to write a short story with two random sentences as my inspiration

1.An independent woman who has dedicated her life to helping others in any way she can.
2. A Polish man runs down the street, pauses while a stranger pees on him,and resumes his run screaming.

Here is what I wrote:



“It was god’s will”
That’s always how Olga liked to think about it.
If he didn’t want me to dedicate my life to helping others then he wouldn’t have made me so compassionate.
But still there lingered in her a feeling that her selflessness was beginning to take on an air of self-righteousness. She resented the feeling of pride she felt after every good deed and worried that it took away from the deed itself.
Lately she had become consumed with self-doubt wondering why she felt it her duty to help everyone around her.
Where these acts of generosity as genuine as she intended them to be or was she using these people’s misfortunes to avoid herself?
Most nights she would lie awake trying to persuade god to talk to her.
She felt herself wanting god to reveal his worries and anxieties.
She wanted to tell god to pull up a chair and rest his feet on the coffee table.
Was it in her power to console god?
Was it sacrilegious to even think about such thoughts?
She felt ashamed at thinking herself Grande enough to be able to help the being who created her and the very reality she existed in; but she couldn’t help herself.
She would spend hours thinking up intimate conversation between herself and god.
She personified god.
Every night he looked different, one nigh he was Morgan Freeman and the next he was Che Guevara and once he even appeared as Butterface, her childhood cat.

In these conversations they would discuss any and everything under the great moon god himself created.
Anything from the mess people had made in various countries to simpler matters like her neighbor Tommy’s gambling habit.
Olga felt a great deal of satisfaction imagining herself being god’s confidante, his right-hand man or maybe even like in the godfather, his consigliery?

But the joy she felt during the hours of fantasy only made reality that much more unbearable. She wondered if it angered god to watch her fantasize about him. She felt sick at the thought of him laughing at her childish inventions and felt embarrassed at having the gull to even dream up her grand important role.

I am to be his servant, not his best friend, not his confidant, not his buddy.
She would repeat these things to herself when she would catch herself ringing in the same item over and over again at her job in the supermarket.
The job itself was so repetitive and mindless that it gave her plenty of time to daydream and think about the conversations of the previous evening.
That is until the lady in curlers buying the diapers would snap at her “ hey wake up you’ve scanned that item 4 times already..can’t you hear the beeping?’..or when one of her many ranking managers would walk by and tell her they believed in her and knew she had it in her to work even faster.

Olga thought the managers walked around feeling important in their white shirts.
That’s how you knew they were managers. The managers wore the white collared shirts, the cashiers ,blue collars, and it seemed the irony in only making a couple of dollars more an hour was lost on them.

But that wasn’t what was bothering her on that particular afternoon.
On that particular afternoon she was consumed with what had happened that morning,.
That morning on her first fifteen minute break from work she had attempted to go next door to the bagel shop and have a quick breakfast.
She had spent the night tossing and turning ignoring god’s attempts at conversation.
Waking up tired, she pressed snooze one too many times on the alarm clock and hadn’t had time for her usual breakfast of hardboiled eggs and granola.

God had come to her the night before resembling Keanu Reeves, an actor she didn’t especially care for; in fact she had found his last movie mildly annoying and had decided to no longer rent his movies as she found him to be as she called it “not terribly good at his job.”

So on that particular morning consumed with thoughts of having been rude to god the night before, possibly even having shushed him she sat at the table eating her cream cheesed bagel staring out the window onto the street.
Distracted by her own personal dilemma, Olga did not notice the old polish man from her neighborhood running down the street, who paused while a stranger peed on him and then resumed his run screaming.
It was out of self involvement with thought of being affected by god’s appearance that Olga, not notice the help needed right outside the window.

A few moments later looking at her wrist watch, she realized the scenario that had occurred.She thought about running after him.
But by that time her break was up.

change clothes

Wear me high on your sleeve
Tuck me into your jeans
Button me to your lapel
And let me hang on your collar
So that I may
get a chance to
see it
the way you see it
and get a better look
at your point
of view
because I really do want to come around
to seeing all the loveliness
you mentioned the other day

read me like a picture book

If I told you that ever since that time we met
I had to concentrate
On not to repeating your name
(Your name)
Over and over
And over in my head
(your name)
In different fonts
In various accents
(your name)
Over and over in my head

And if I told you
I felt myself begin to miss you
Before you even walked away?

If
I told you that much
Would you play fair is fair and
admit
how much you enjoyed
hearing it?

admit
the satisfaction
of knowing
the affect you had
on me?


Id look to see if
You could preserve
enough modesty
To keep on wanting me
Inspite of
Premature confessions
And forgive the possibility
Of an axe
to the last leg of
our chasing
Courtship


if you do me this
favor
then I will try and
restrain my usual
habit
of
Turning every single man
Into the same molded clay

Of every man ive ever tried to love
Of every man I ve ever lay dreaming of



Step by step
An early apology for things I may do in the future.
(inspired by Akon)

Trading in all the lovely words for
personal memories
securing your hand as
My liberty
taking all our inside
jokes to keep
on my mantle piece
gathering up all your love
like keepsake souvenirs

Then.
There's also the possibility
Of hording all your affection
to turn into kitsch
and hogging all your devotion
like a badge I can stitch

I‘ll catch myself
Pursuing your gaze with
Increased determination
I’ll just go ahead
and take it all
for my own
Greedy salvation


I’d even go so far
As to keep you in my pocket

And thats when
You'll be surprised
To find that
even after we've tally up
scores
to reveal my guaranteed victory
finding me still standing there
with ever more gluttony

These habits
I cant exactly be proud of
But I still sheepishly wonder if
Confessions can somehow
Outweigh the crime?

So now with the decks
On the table
Laid out in a row
I find myself
bold enough
to brazenly declare
my love

that
Everything you hear is
True

I do
I do indeed
collect…
the likes of you

You do it for the fans

Im taking a creative writing course.
I am now warning all my fans...yes all 3 of you..that its about to get creative.

left..............for the right



I want to eat all the words between us
To fill the void you nudged yourself
into and widened with your absence