You are like a suicide in Little Tokyo
Horror in a neon culture that makes us hold each other
You ask would the rain brutally murder water-walking Jesus
You are the appeal unknown to the stable
You are a shine far beneath moonlight
To love you
Is to love surrounded by smogged purples and blues
You call like the first cigarette
And speak like the last
We were always wrong for each other
I live a life of midnights peeling wax
Using a candle to see what I’m doing
So I kiss you like we are not built to last
Just to be the last
The lonely ones
The only ones
To hold each other
Like there’s a suicide in Little Tokyo
“You can’t make a story with just two sentences”!
After the wing healed, I let her go.
I believed in angels after that.
“You’re going to die alone”.
“That may be, but I’ll live with her”.
“You deserve someone who knows you better.
And here, I saved you the blue M&Ms”.
A tree landed on my car before it spun out of control.
I got out of my car and said “Thanks Dad, and rest in peace”.
“I like things a gentleman should not enjoy” he said.
“I’ve got handcuffs in my bag” she replied with a smile.
“That’s ok sweetie, we all have demons”.
“Are yours in your basement too”?
It was a boy meets girl story until the dick pic was sent.
He was surprised to say the least.
She is happy
Talkative over an empty cup of coffee
She descended downstairs to the bathroom and us as a crowd
Were not as loud
At the foot of the stairs she returned
And every preconception burned
I could tell she was paper thin
But no one heard her call food a sin
She wrapped up her smile
In her pocket was where it was kept
Saving it for the triumph
Called the top step
There are no words to iterate
No diction to explain
The lack of energy she had moving
How each step was tackled with such strain
How skin and bone clutched onto the hand rail
But she was on her feet and refused to be beat
She promised herself she would witness defeat
As often as she would eat
And she ascended
Sitting comfortably in her seat
Asking about the crowd absent of her
And how it did fare
I was not looking forward to my trip home
Buses trams and walking to get there
But her tired tired wings had so much more
They had a flight of stairs
So I was interviewed by Artscope about my writing process, my performance of poetry and I was asked to read a few pieces.
I really hate rhyme
Could never get the hang of it
Or keep it in time
It should be banned across the nation
And don’t get me started on alliteration
Answers towards alliteration elude me with ease
Which is a shame because it is a skill to savour
A serenade of words sung by those with style
But one thing I loath lower than alliteration
Is fine language
I stand at a precipice when faced
With the more articulated parts of the language
I view such trivial efforts to sound educated
As a fruitless endeavour
Wrought with pretension and solitude
From those of virtue and truth
When all these aspects of writing
Stand like termites together
They charge at me with a united cause
Birds of a feather
Determined to give a monstrous migraine
To this man who would not
Pity any and all who deem these cheap maneuvers
As something that should be sought
The stains on the plate
Do not spend a single second
I am not asking have you listened somewhere quiet
I am not asking can you hear as much
As the deaf
I am asking you
Can you hear the silence
That deafening nothing that cannot be withstood
That sound that falls on earth owned by those beneath it
As birds stop singing and trees no longer rustle you must
Scream scream scream
For it is coming
For ears deaf and lendable alike
Can you hear it yet
I am not asking can your vision cut through the dark
I am not asking what mechanical goggles or animal eyes can see
Upon the night’s descent
I am asking you
Can you see the darkness
Are you able to watch it siphon street lamps
And sabotage the sleep of children
This is beyond the absence of sun
This is where we drown
When there is no light to behold
Even the blind can succumb to the sight
Can you see it yet