Foxley & Ossington, 1:45 a.m.

hey there,
hipster girl!

are you really so
unhappy
with your middle-class
upbringing

that you can justify
your silly haircut
and discount-brand beer
because mom 'n' pop
never would?

it's the image
status
knowledge
understanding
that makes you
feel better.

even though
you're the same,
it's almost like
you're different
from them.

going out
with your friends
to be seen

getting drunk

singing and dancing
like there's no end
to the the late-night
subway rides
you know you
can't sustain.

your troubles sound like mine.

Two

she keeps her mind

concerned with novels, and the colour

in the corner of the room…

I never want to wake her,

though she always hears the silence

far too soon…

every time I think about

the things I’ve lost,

I tear myself in two.

the way she smiled,

her eyes so wild;

all those little things

she used to do.

like a summer breeze

that cannot keep,

they’re gone before

I ever knew the truth:

she held my hand

and stood beside me;

now, I hold on to

standing memories.

sometimes come the moments

where I’m glad that

I don’t have her anymore.

for all the love and comforts

she could give weren’t worth

the games she played for sport.

she never really knew me,

and I’m doing just fine

right here on my own.

tearing myself in two.

in a way, it’s kind of funny…

I’m not sure what

she ever meant to me.

this pause for self-reflection

only brings perspective

if you choose to believe

in the ugly things

that accompany love.

They’re a big part of

the beauty we perceive.

A Moment of Clarity

dishwashers remind me
of how precious
time is.

though that's sort of
a ridiculous thought.

instead i sit
thinking of musical things
and why they are.


It's all about knowing
when to end
your thoughts.


that's poetry!


but I've been drunk
for hours

so maybe that's wrong...

Overcast

You know those days?

where the sun wants
you to know
it exists;

that it's there,
but would much prefer
to shine, brighter,
on some other place?

a park bench, or
some other urban
rest-stop
you've neglected
on your day-to-day
travels.

Somewhere,
in the midst of something
warm and inviting,
we are overcast
and oblivious.

What a twisted sense of humor
that bastard sun has.

Concerted Recollection

It's funny how
I'll let a moment pass,
unnoticed,
before really
comprehending


if it means anything at all.


Upon that
recognition,
I find myself
utterly unable
to describe it;

I wonder instead
what it was,
in the first place,
that demanded
such
concerted recollection.


Sitting in an honest
park, with honest people and
honest birds (if you feed them),
I try desperately to remember…

only to end up smoking
cigarettes,

more confused
than when
I started.