Shams' Muse

Please save me. Please be around for the rest of my life. Let tomorrow be the start.

dreaming while napping, sometimes elapsing time goes much faster when I sleep on the couch, dazed from my dreams, frustrated and aroused.

stupid obsessive bone gnawing heart, if not one boy then another. So it seems to be, each one replacing the next. I guess it is worse when there is nothing, just empty beating, empty waiting. At least the energies go somewhere. But for this one, no good will come of this one. He's poison in the open sore. Let it go, stupid heart, stop being such a dog with an oversize bone with no marrow in it. I don't know why its so hard to let go of things that are not good for me, serve no purpose, and hurt moment after moment. It could not be more clear. I might feel the tightness in my jaw starting to slacken, because I hear the voice of another, calling me out.

Forget all love, I'd rather play; dance and draw and laugh all day; explore the world ashore asea, I wish a companion to discover me.

it would be an honor to kiss the tips of your fingers.

I didn't care, they think. or they didn't know. She fingered a strand of plastic beads and stretched them out from her neck and looked at them. Why not do it yourself? she said. They all say that. As if it were like trying to decide whether to eat Chinese or Thai or to ride a bike or walk.

been days, I been here, been weeks, but not months. Doctor's trying to dose me up and I don't 'preciate that. Like he should understand, that maybe I need more time, or just a threat of more dosing. Well, he doubled up anyway, but he's a pill pusher, no time to sit and talk and ob-ser-vate. Gotta pull myself up and out of this place, squeezing myself out of the hole. I'm half out, you know, but I'm stuck at the waist. Pushing myself up with my hands and I'd kick with my legs, only hole's all filled with dirt now. Not much of a hole anymore. Maybe the bottom will drop out again, but I doubt it. Took me a long holiday from responsibilities. Took me a long holiday from people. That's the privilege of being a little sick sometimes. You get a respite, though it doesn't quite feel like that. In fact, just getting out of bed feels like a chore. Not screaming is the real chore. All I want to do is scream so loud those days and scream and scream and screa...

I ran until I found the place, touched the stars, touched my face, Vapor trails of blood and air, I wove daisies in your hair.

I ran until I found him or what was him at some other point before he exploded into vapor and blood. I kissed my hand, and touched the place he had been, and somewhere, sometime, our lips met.

Saved by wind, saved by boats, I need to learn to stay afloat. Hold my breath and pass this by, swim until I learn to fly.

SHams, I ain't gots no poems today, shams, but I has got me an ache that itches and throbs. I'll tell you about the coincidence, or better put co -in -side-ance, or maybe co-ink-a-dance. But for a moment, there was a hope, that was dashed with the quiet echoing of my feet, in the hall. are echoes quiet? are empty halls? I swear I wasn't hearing things. But then again, there are these parallel worlds.

I throw up my arms, throw up and grab for the rope that will pull me out of this mess. I can't seem to get out of my own head, can't seem to get out of this cycle of thoughts that is pulling me to its centre vortex, without ceasing. I'm going down the drain to the pipes, but I'm too big I get stuck, but I spin in place. If only I knew how to end you. This might be what grief looks like. And maybe it is good to experience death many times before death so it isn't such a shock when it comes.

Dear pillow, You are so sexy in the afternoon. Let's nap, eat cookies in bed, and make out again soon. Love, Rachel (it rhymes. it qualifies)

don't kill the buddha on the road. its a trap. have him for tea, sing him a song, ask him to join you, he'll come along. give him some beers, dance hand in hand, whisper to each other, and have some McDonalds. stand on your hands, poster the city, draw your feet, and go rollerblading. bike if you must, or take the train, ride in a car, a tractor a plane. read some books, paint on your body, listen to birds, listen to birds. hug a tree kiss a worm, and catch something alive and let it go. like a fish in the sea swim to the other side, get him a guest pass, and climb. i couldn't be bother to write so many rhymes, of what I could do with the buddha should I meet him on the road. But I'll tell you this, I wouldn't kill him, even if he killed me first.

Ghosts in the machine, lost in Lachine, driving past places of Nord Montreal, can y'all find me along the canal? *********************************** Went searching you see for the ghosts in the machine and found none but heard them banging on the pipes and wires, knew they'd been there before and everywhere. I swung round with my torch and saw bats hanging in places that hadn't been touched and I am worried that maybe just maybe I need to burn the place down before I go back again.

would try anew to paint my heart, things that end or never start, replace the promise of my stars, unlucky in love, good at cards.

thank you for my eyes, I say, thank you for my eyes, I'm not the man I used to be. (M.S.) If not for art and writing, would I be silent in the universe? Passing down concrete halls and the chatter of thousands who muttered their messages in places I might have heard some of them, but with so many of them talking, I need to drown it out with total oceans of silence, a wall of silence, or maybe just the birds. But if I leave something of me behind, or something of mine, am I still there? Today I thought if I snatch a baby I will become a mother and I can raise that child to stand on two feet and stretch with both hands up and pull the rope and climb higher than I ever have been and see more than I ever will see. When my time comes, and I have met my love, I will never take him for granted, not one day, not one moment, not once, because I waited so long for this and waited so long and waited so and waited and.

I saw a ghost in the wall captured in the brick and the paint and his name written in graffiti scrawl. I hadn't seen him in a long time, and most of the ghosts have become whispers as people forget them. It was a hall of ghosts on the back wall by an alley, pointing the way for me to dream or dare.

It reminds me of when I liked the scientist who lived in my dorm, and he knew about Plato too. He was a tall guy, rough around the edges, not thin, but manly. His roommates thought he was weird, but I thought he was beautiful. I could smell him from across a room, and I wanted to touch him. Constantly. We wrestled on the couches in the common room and he smeared frosting over my face once and we laughed and just once we kissed. just once. late at night. the girl down the hall who hated all the other girls. They drank vodka one night while I stayed behind to study biology and he fell for her, her exotic ways, her esotericism, things I never could be. I sat on the steps one night, and listened to them talking in the common room. My heart broke so hard, I didn't have the energy to leave.

to live dangerously, like me, you must, eat fruit without washing the peel, try new things especially technological ones, think you are sexy at any size, flirt online first, walk your dog in pyjamas, leave notes on cars, write poems, fall in love often, and love with all your heart. If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen.

If you knew how much I think of you still, you would be unhappy, maybe even disturbed. But I suppose that is what we ask of everyone we have left behind. Don't think of me, forget me, let me go, get on with your life. I am sure you would shut me out of the access points if you were aware, that I spent time with your internet presence. If only it were so easy to let go! The facts of the situation were quite clear and there they were, spread out like a fan of cards on the table. Gin. Rummy. But there was something in the player that I never understood, something that let you win the game, and play me like that. I never let myself form an opinion of you, because I knew it was not easy to get inside. But I never got inside. You slamemd every door shut that I opened, pushed me to the ground like a defiant child, with unexpected roughness. Stunned, then gaining my composure, I unfolded the paper in my hands and read the same facts again and again. Memorized them. Studied them. Tried to m...

would it be so bad to be a suicide girl? not someone who commits suicide, of course, but someone cute and sexy with dyed hair and tattoos on my body. I can't commit to those things, save for being sexy and cute, which I am even if I am not naked on a webpage.

I thought, Shams, that we should dedicate the month of August to things august, the gods in heaven, the gods in my heart, the God of my religion, the God in our souls. I had such a great idea for a poem, Shams, and I lost it on the canal. It drifted away, with duck feet.

how long until you no longer visist my screaming mind, until I stop paying homage at your shrine, thinking, you would have liked this, you should have been here, we should have been. there's no one else now, but I can't wait until I've erased your presence from my house.

i saw you in standing on a piece of wood and you had the biggest clumsiest feet I'd ever seen. let's be lovers, you and I.

been on a lot of dates, Shams, don't even know how to put it into a poem because every date is a poem, every person a soul of the same soul, looking to find its way back to itself. But in the meantime, we're all wanting some heart stirring connection, and hoping to find it in one another. I'm not sure how you get from that first meeting to love, or if it awakens upon first meeting or never comes. I've never been so good at this. And I hate drinking.

worst relationship I ever had. probably not ever, but certainly in recent memory. he went cold. it wasn't me. it was you. i knew you were a train wreck and I should have jumped.