The bartender starts work now. He doesn’t drive. He walks. I guide: a vanilla glow peeking at winter’s chalk drawings. He goes in through the front door. I go in through the window. The bartender’s lips are dry. He fills craters with liquid. Warm in the stomach. Water on the moon. Drops sift through space, down our cheeks, like...
When water melts would it smell like wax Unlikely: Butter. The oil that won’t come off I do not see the birds, only their feet, and even then, only the ones missing talons I’ve been pulling my hair out since I was little, letting it fall from my...
i’d never had a real coffee until the portuguese bakery on the street corner where concrete peels like dead skin no skateboarding this is toronto is dufferin grove the curb is nicer when it’s made with the opposite intention blankets unfamiliar if everyone is sober...
an apple is the doorstop. in lieu of a working lock it is an invitation, a trail of pawprints from stoop to kitchen to hallway and back again does it count as smoking inside? if we pour our lungs to the front porch and the smoke trails slither between the chipped green paint, green skin to...
I’d leave the light on, keep the door unlocked (but you know where I hide the key, the backdoor’s always open for you and Elijah). there’s a place set -- your glass is upside down, so the dust never settles. your empty chair keeps the room hollow, foggy through the fall. I’m sure if you strolled...
He is warmth trickling through the trees; their leaves casting shadows that cradle her soft-bodied stem. A tulip to the sun, she unfolds against his touch she is no longer grace and beauty. She is textured edges and tangled roots she unravels herself before him...
Oh! Vexed candle—you! What sorrows you look into? With your crimson heart turning blue, Like my wounds were of you. As a flaming soul in an oyster's shell, In the silent wisps of air, you dwell. Sculpting your masthead with the turn— As you burn! As we burn! Of the rainbow! Of the...
Words—they come out—a blazing golden Showering refulgence upon this night Out from the winter’s waning crescent— An altering air of mystery. In pebbled syllables—tossing and rippling, Trembling and flirting— And constantly vibrating Upon this heart they merrily flow. Freshly coated—some pink upon pink Jewelry—or a painting itself Resting upon the innocent face A portal to the...
I rolled the cigarette paper between my thumb and forefinger, as the Wild West blew dust and ashtray memories into my mouth. My teeth crunched on gritty rocks, eroded by tides of passing centuries into desert sand. The film coated my gums and my tongue rolled over a jagged molar, like...
The breath of spring births blossoms and young love. A thief of frost: she tongues each valley and kisses lips of dandelions. Watching is the weakened widow who spies upon the mating birds. The blood-red berries, succulent and bare, are plucked off one by one. The lovers prance outside her home lungs bathing in the lilac...