i should live in salt for leaving you behind

my life still exists without you but it's a little bit emptier. it's a little bit rougher around the edges. my sails blown open to the wild seas; i know you won't protect me anymore.

i want to light your matches and burn your candle next to my hair i want to sleep on fire and not feel a thing.

i'm one hundred different things i'm a liar i'm not worth a dime. i tasted salt on my plate and knew it was my tears. i want to be alone but i'm scared i'd miss you and despite your gentle touch i'm still nobody new.

i cried my eyes out for you but tears aren't worth a thing i'd never have enough salt to pay you back the love that i owe.

i want to light your matches and burn your candle next to my hair i want to sleep on fire and not feel a thing. i'd never have enough tears to put out the fire that i've started i'd never have enough salt to pay you back the love that i owe i'd never live enough lonely lives drinking in the dead sea to collect enough salt to pay you back the love that i owe.

those things you do will all catch up to you

in china i danced alone to the smiths in some strange rooftop bar, not even lonely at all.

girls who dance.
girls who sing.

people who sit alone in crowded bars. i don't understand and will always understand their desire to be close to the crowd but not in it. in the middle of the dance floor,

i too, prefer the darkness.

if you asked me, i would ask for the quiet at 5:43am
when no one is mad at me because i haven't screwed up,
and my sorries haven't piled up,
and i'm running to catch the first metro
to get to work on time.

another line to remember

"Tell me the truth, how long until I find myself
throwing the dog's full bowl of water across the kitchen again,
because you moved on with your life and I stayed heavy-footed
in the linoleum, stupid, trying to resuscitate the broken mop.

[...]

What if I told you I wouldn't want to have an affair with her
unless she slurred and spilled her drink on the edge of my filthy bed,
or if it ever happened, that I licked the librarian's salty back,
I'd still call you afterwards that same night,
tell you to meet me for a drink somewhere,
in some smoky, lonely palace?"

- Ali Liebgott, "The Beautifully Worthless"



it's for a friend who knows what it's like to hear your own sobs echo through the empty hallway, who knows life is an empty box until you fill it with whatever you can and paint it whatever colour you want.

i like that at first, you read "in some smoky, lonely place." but then you find out it's a palace. and it's more lonely because it's bigger and it's empty and it echos so that you hear your loneliness and desperation bouncing back to you over and over again.

And You Didn't Ask Why

You wake with your face sticky with sweat and you shiver in the chill of the morning. You roll yourself out of bed and you pull on a sweater and you pull the hood over your forehead. And you stumble down the hall to the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. And your feet on the cold kitchen tile make you shiver in the chill of the morning. The blue light of the morning crawls through the window which faces an alley off a street you've never been to. Right behind your own home there are places you've never been to. And the building on the other side casts shadows all day long. There are squirrels eating through the plastic garbage bags on your balcony and there is a cat in the kitchen with his face pressed to the window and you eat instant oatmeal in the middle of the kitchen watching it all. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you know no profound things.

if i were on the titanic i would lose my brains

k. made me watch 'the titanic' last night til 1am --

what the shit is that movie even about

and why do i know half of the lines by heart?

of course afterwards i had to wikipedia 'the titanic'

and read the whole damn thing --

of particular interest are the rich and famous who died.

then k. and i had a debate about whether or not

it's better to drown or burn in a fire.

i said 'burning in a fire sounds more painful

but drowning causes panic and chaos

and if i were on the titanic i would lose my brains'.

she said 'i'd rather die of hypothermia'.

i said 'it's funny that 10 years after this movie,

james cameron staged his comeback with 'avatar',

another poorly-written huge piece of crap,

and then he lost 'best picture' to his ex-wife kathryn bigelow

who also became the first female to win 'best director' at the oscars'.

we both agreed we were never going on a cruise ship.

ode to my macbook pro

my macbook pro

sleek innovative intuitive

silver and black unibody

a powerful machine

you are like a portal to another universe

my macbook pro

reliable durable beautiful

i am yours forever

you are like a portal to another universe

no wait that’s the internet

without the internet

you’re a fancy typewriter

without the internet

where are all my friends

une belle année ou quoi

oh no?

or was it?

what happened?

who cares?


just a little older

is all

a little younger

a little sadder

a little happier



i did some terrible

or

impressive

things



more time

inside me

or

less?



ah

who cares

kiss me

dead mothers

dead mothers

who are still dead

i am alive

you are in my blood

dead mothers


dead mother's

single daughter's

mother's mother

has dementia


dead mother

you had cancer

i was a child

one time

dead mother


single fathers

raising daughters

so much blood

in my blood

dead mother


9 months in your womb

La vie est une merde totale

"La vie est une merde totale
on la chie jusqu'à la mort.
une grande ligne de caca
c'est là tout ce qui restera
de nous. merci maman."

"qui

n'a

pas

déjà

cru

avoir

rejeté l'amour

dans l'âme

pour

toujours?"

merci julie doucet for being super fucking awesome.

dear natasha,

i read your poem 'monarch butterflies use the earth's magnetic field' and i just want you to know

it's a great poem and all but what do you mean the magnetic field is preparing to flip

what exactly does that mean

is this like a real thing or a thing you made up

because i don't have a back-up system

how will i get home

it is 4am and i am really worried about this

i could look it up on the internet but i'd rather have you explain it to me

please write back soon

your friend

emily


ps natasha

it's 4am and i'm reading your poetry on the internet

sometimes the world is wonderful

Winter of Self-Destruction 1.0

Earth, I am in crisis, and you don't give a shit.
This is the winter of my self-destruction.
On the metaphorical road of life,
I have wandered off into a field
and am standing there like a lonesome cow.

Loneliness, you're enormous.
I'm drunk and you're taking advantage of me.
There isn't anyone here. I am taking advantage
of myself. Oh no.
My past and future selves are fighting again.

I am in crisis. I am as lost as Kim's bike,
locked to a pole somewhere in the city or
the dusty brain corner of forgotten things.
Earth, if you can remember where I am,
now is a good time to take me home.

Loneliness, you're enormous.
This is the winter of my self-destruction.
I am lying down now.
I am staring at the sky now,
wondering when it is going to snow.

Cohabiting by Stephen Dunn

There's not a nude in a museum
or a person anywhere, taking a bath,
nearly as naked as that French girl,
stripped of all but her socks,
head shaved, being spat upon
by her own townspeople
in one of history's sunlit
cobblestone squares. I've only
read about her, but somehow,
for me, she's permanently fixed,
a scaffolding of awful
yet understandable righteousness
surrounding her, accentuating
the stark paleness of her skin,
the big war finally over,
and behind it, for centuries,
those without pity
with their saliva and their stones.
I imagine how it began
between them, a man in a uniform
she had to have been wary of,
a man, in fact, dressed to kill,
touching her in some exactly
right place in a wrong time.
And I see her resisting for as long
as she can--minutes, weeks--
her mind searching for principles
her body doesn't seem to have.
Perhaps she thinks it's the end
of her world, what has she to lose?
Or she just falls
into those irrevocable tomorrows
like someone who knows
only what she feels, the enemy slowly
transformed into a man as lonely
as she is, with beautiful hands.
I can see the picture clearly now.
Terrified, she rushes forward,
which makes no sense, but I remember
when I did the same. Everything
in my education said, no, go back,
and I went headlong into the flames.

Portrait of a Sweet Orange

Citrus sinensis: the Sweet Orange,

not to be confused with the Citrus aurantium:

a bitter fruit.

Oranges are a vital source of Vitamin C.

The orange blossom is white.

Fallen blossoms are dried and used to make tea.

In the produce section of the grocery store

I watched a child sitting in a cart reach over the metal bars

and pick up a large orange. He held it in his hand

and then he bit it.

Apples are apples and oranges are oranges.

Nothing rhymes with orange.

The Sweet Orange does not occur in the wild.

The Roof of the World: The Pamirs, Tajikistan

i spent my first night in tajikistan
in a squat toilet shitting out my insides
bent over in a spiderweb of pain.
i was thankful, at least,
for the darkness a squat toilet provides.
thankful everything disappeared
into a black hole in the earth.

in my private squat toilet hell
i imagined them finding me in the morning.
pants down, lying in a pile of my own shit and blood.
barely conscious, begging for water, chapstick,
and a new pair of jeans, and to line me up
against the crumbling wall,
shoot my decrepit fucking body
my head was unfortunate enough to be attached to.

i came back to vomit,
my face in front of a hole full of shit,
bringing up what i had choked down,
with my cellphone flashlight
waiting for the battery to die or the sun to rise,
whichever one came first.

in the morning we drove through the pamirs;
remote mountains near remote mountain borders.
they call it the pamir highway,
the roof of the world, "the world's greatest road trip",
and i slept through the whole damn thing.


Karakol:

click on the pictures to scroll through.

Murghab: 

Asshole Mountain, near Murghab:

look at what i did now

in an airport hotel
so i touch your bones for the last time

the sun rises through the window

planes lift their heavy wings
fly over our heads

this balcony gives an excellent view of sky

so at four in the morning i pack my bags
and dive right in

sweet blue tastes like sugar sticks and nescafe

asphalt tastes like clean sheets soft mattress all alone

so i guess what i'm trying to say
is that i'm home

only slightly alternate

nowadays i only ever get drunk on weekdays

and only ever on white wine

i bought at the supermarket for $6.99

i only ever think of a million different people

i've seen that week, some faces more than others

some faces i couldn't get enough of

i only ever think of an only slightly alternate

reality

no one ever shits or blows their nose

it's an open concept loft apartment with a double bed

nowadays i only ever get drunk

i only ever think of all the books i'm going to read

in your open concept loft apartment with a double bed

mouth sound

to say this word out loud

say this out loud

as i always am when i come here

i am confused

am i good or no good?

good/not good?

is this an act or is this

real life?

i feel

so much

anxiety

it

makes

me

want

to

.

one who does these things

one who does opposite things

i cannot compare myself to

one who speaks out loud

their own words

world collision

i cut myself in half. i split myself in two and i said, "i can be whoever i want to be. and i can still be happy." i can make this part of me disappear, i can make this part of me appear. i can wear a new skin every day. i can be in love i can be out love. with a snap of my fingers i need you/i don't need you.

i am -

i am -

inside this room i wear these boots and i am in charge.

outside this room i am -

i am undone. where do you find people? how do other people

find

other

people?

i am falling off the face of the earth i think. i have split myself in two and fallen right apart. i have torn myself open for nobody. i'll spill my guts for you, you don't even have to ask.

to change or stay this way?

hey love.

touch you here or there?

kiss your head or go away?

because go away i might.

if you want me to i might.

if you said,

"go away."

i might say,

"okay."

i might say okay

and heart crush like dust.

just a touch, love.

'cause love i just might.

remember thursday night?

quiet love or loud?

'cause whisper i just might.

if you want me to i might.

if you say,

"please stay."

i will say,

"okay."

i will say okay

how'd it get this way

hey, love.

secret in the way.

tell you now or later?

because later i just might.

if i find the words i might.

i might say,

"you're okay."

and i might say,

i love you.

and absence ate the year

october 21 2010

now, now, it's broken now. all of it, all of us. i am up late again, waiting for a bus. the sky is a worn midnight wash, i mean, that's a real colour. i felt i knew it all along, and now i feel it, painful, hungry again, lonely on the way home from work.

i would like an invitation, would like to stop dreaming about a white shirt i've never seen you wear. would i even go? no, no, no. can't stop dreaming. would like to say, i like your smile. just saying.

no, wait, wait, yes. it's still pretty. would like to ask permission to kiss you outside but i'm too shy. ok, go, i am sure, this is a bad idea. lean. leeeeean.

the man asleep doesn't know when he's missed his stop. is he dreaming of you like i do, no, is he haunted by a ghost, hungry for something real. no. i am tired and i know, i shouldn't kiss you on the mouth, shouldn't accidentally touch your blouse. but, i know. i am hungry for something real. i am cold on the way home from work because it's windy and that's how the world works.

++

stephen dunn: "from the start all i wanted to explain was how things go wrong, how the heart's an empty place until it is filled"

i can never say how we got here. how i became me and you became you. how we believed that no one would leave before we were ready, until they did. how i learned that absence can grow or diminish, and nothing is for sure. how absence is easily replaced by another body that makes the same motions, and then it's fine i guess. how absence is actually just nothing over again against the side of your brain, saying there is nothing now where there once was something.

i remember sitting on that bus thinking about jeans, and absence ate the year, and i brushed against your shoulder.

today my body trembled a little bit when i thought of you. that's a whole other beat. it's a whole other hole.