poetry

days escape [untitled]

days escape

people teardrop onto the street, life throbs
conversation cigarettes from hand to mouth to laugh
mountains circle the town like an old stain
monument and mass watches me like a
steady shadow it clings to my conscience
with words you lost and a girl i remember

barely
between breaths
riding waves of wine and ripples of your smile
our stares coagulate
our souls drunk on their own geometry

your eyes are full of music
a song flows into my bones
you lean into me
i tell you my name
we hug and you bury your breasts
into the tide of my smile

your speech is thick
a young river trying to find itself
the night is old…you are still young
wine weighs on your words

i want you to get home to your bed
but you are still sketched in my head
a warm hand pours into me
your eyes tell me you will be back

words stir
our hands separate

 

 

PhilosopherPoet

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Canadian nuances, Rantings, Uncategorized

Canadian nuances – Part 6: Wading through sludge

I spent my New Yearโ€™s Eve in an empty house. The warm kiss of sherry coating my lungs, and the gentle sigh of a dog narrating my thoughts. It was lonely, but perfect. Quiet moments give us time to reflect. On everything, really.

I babbled to a few people on Facebook, my thumbs thundering against the glass face of my phone. I checked the time 23:34…shit, time to leave. I threw on my headphones, slung my bottle of sherry back into my bag, began my ascent through the ice and sludge. The succulent anger of Slipknot thundering threw me.

I approach the SkyTrain. Reach for my wallet. Seconds after my hand collides with its porous body, my eyes dart to the sticker adjacent to the turnstiles Free Ride on New Yearโ€™s Eve. 8 P.M. until 5 A.M. A smile creeps over me. โ€œThank you Canada,โ€ I mutter to myself.

I get off at my station. A few of my heavy metal anthems are now slithering across my playlist. I start headbanging and beating drums like invisible ghosts in the air. Somehow this doesnโ€™t seem like enough. I kick up a bit of snow and do an Irish jig in the middle of the street. (Itโ€™s like a version of Riverdance you should never watch. Trust me.) A thought came to me this morning as I began etching out the events of last night. I think Iโ€™ve fallen in love with this country. Or perhaps itโ€™s fallen in love with me? I donโ€™t care which way you slice it.

During the summer of 2016 I had a romance with a beautiful Japanese girl. I see an interesting parallel between loving a person and loving an environment. Thereโ€™s the initial awe of something new coupled with anxiety of being able juggle the complexity of it all. Maybe one has an angry parent buzzing in their head saying โ€œYouโ€™re in a new country / relationship now. Donโ€™t fuck it up!โ€

Initially being in Canada felt like wading through sludge. Thereโ€™s so many details, -isms, directions, slang and faces thrown your way, all thatโ€™s left to do is slowly wade through it. The sludge. Now that Iโ€™m two and a bit years into being โ€œsettledโ€, thereโ€™s less sludge. I can still see parts of it, others havenโ€™t found me yet.

Where am I going with all this? Well, you remember the earlier analogy about the lover? A tipping point comes in any relationship. It is when you let your guard down. You express yourself, and run with it. It feels like flying. It tastes like freedom. That was exactly how I felt a few hours ago, churning up snow and dancing like dyslexic spaghetti.

Yeah…I may have looked like a fool, but Iโ€™m cool with that. Man must frolic, and so should you!

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