am I too fast, or you too slow?
I wait for you all the time,
watching the plants grow,
watching the city as I run,
watching the water boil to cook mixed vegetables.
Have you
thought about me
in these minutes
between the last time
and the next?
Is there enough space for you to put your feet on one,
your hands on the other,
and push them apart and
stretch your presence into thoughts of me.
Seems like I'm always waiting
for you to appear,
for your name to appear beyond my imagination,
to flash on the screen and for you to say
Hello
and say, I've been thinking about you.
Those words would water
the desert
and make it bloom with white flowers.

make no mistake
so much.
just think those words,
think those words for me.

i will burst.

Poems about Montrealers

On a bench,
he lies prone,
a mound of flesh oozing
out between the crack of
his shirt, the crack of his pants.
her arm is a tattoo
colorful like a nuclear sunset,
she spits at some point
past his feet and
says,
"That's disgusting."

Sometimes I look down and think
just how much
I love a daisy.

a kind of tiredness
becomes a part
of me
past a certain age.

Pleasant Sunday Thoughts

I am wearing your sweatshirt,
spring is unforgiving after
the bars close and I lounged on your
bed, leafing through one of your
books by a popular Japanese author.

You twitch in your sleep, first a hand,
then a foot. Can a foot twitch?
Malfunctions in your brain.
I can not recall.
I am afraid to look it up on google
afraid you are destined.

not even if you fill the pockets of
this sweatshirt with stones and
sink to the bottom of the river.
I will hold your hand underwater.

In the next you can be my child, my parent,
my friend, my mentor, my neighbor.
But you first, you can decide.

Happiness is a Practice (II)

happiness is a practice and I am
not doing so well these days my
mind is not so well these days
my heart is not so well these days,
i can't claw my way out of this,
can't stop kicking you can't stop
from this fear this neverending fear
that acid bathes my interior life.
I would like someone so gentle,
so considerate, so mild
and then I think maybe then,
maybe then, maybe at that point
I will stop with this
practice of fear.
my stomach hurts from not eating.
it's been what... 12 hours?
please.
you only need to breathe so i know you are there.

Happiness is a practice and I have neglected
you and find myself drifting through these
spaces with my hands knotted together,
tightening and loosening,
drifting and plummeting.
You hold from me all your secrets, all your
words, hiding them in stones and
signs that I can not decipher
even if I were literate.
What do you want from me?
I can not find you in my mind,
cannot hold you to me in my breath,
and so I feel so very alone together.
Take me now, take my hands
and lay yourself down in the mud
before me and let me cross on
your back to a higher heaven.

Let me not melt like this
and find myself no longer
me but you,
as though returning to my
very origins,
carved off from your rib.
I would halt this process
and yank on
a cord to let myself be me.
But there are such
strong forces in natures,
so much greater
than those that I master.
I am nothing
in this wind.

it just so happens that
bad mood and anxiety
are contagious.

seule tout seule
et je m'inquiette, je contemplate
until I am sick.

i could thank you for bringing me here,
even if you hate me.
I think of you sometimes
and wonder where you are,
and why we don't talk.
I think of you often
and wonder where you are,
and why we don't talk.
My life is a garden and
I am in love
and it is because of you,
in spite of you.
you only ever existed in my mind.