MAY TWENTY THIRD WAS ONCE

Ceremony
Ceremony
Crremony (typo)

one through twenty seven minus two

twenty seven minutes

so much shit to sift shallow alongside your smiling eyes

i might see you but i hope i don't

twenty five minutes

i missed one in there

the noise reduction can help my shaky hand

and my untrained eye

but can't do much for the

lack that escapes me

these days

i don't know how much of me is left in you

but it seems like more than it began

i don't know if i want it there anymore

cuz i think i spoke without thought

when i said i wanted you

twenty four minutes

left leg shakes

below right leg hot and cold

soon it will sizzle as it does so often

since i picked up this habit

blood flow sorrows and my cells

i think are mad at me

they keep getting stuck in my elbow

and my ankle

my father has this problem but

he's never done anything to deserve it

except age

twenty three minutes

inbox filled with thoughts from him

about her

and her sex

three months would have brought me a smile

now it brings me a laugh though

soaked in suck

for contempt and content(ion)

i ignored it but it came back

twenty two minutes

you sit over there

across there and i sit here

but we talk

a lot

and my left pocket just vibrated

and my ears just beeped

i wonder who it is

probably her

searching flights

or her

telling me how i've

let her down

(again)

twenty one minutes

(break)

why is that hotdogs only taste taste-y to me

when soaked in processed cheese noodles?

twenty minutes

my right leg tingles now

hot and cold

like the scorching cold of that

liquid

smoke that filled the room

that day

twenty minutes (again)

thoughts over and i type

too fast for my brain

watching the clock pass---

nineteen minutes

he answers his phone so

matter-of-fact-ly

this is me and what the fuck do you want?

(break)

ha. at least he is who he is

and thats more

than i can say

about me

(or you,

definitely).

eighteen minutes

something is moving inside of me

and i'm too afraid to know what it is

i need a moment.

and a date.

and someone to force

me into that room.

will you?

seventeen minutes

and he's talking to me now

two He's from the Pod, actually

talks of flatulence and wet dicks

dinner at mom's and

a j or two for the road

sixteen minutes

he has nothing to say

right now he said

i told him i don't either

but i say it anyway

though i really wish sometimes

i wouldn't

fifteen minutes

why do the minutes seem to pass faster

now

closer to the top

hands inching closer to be on top

of each other

and why do i even feel

like i need to watch it

because

fourteen minutes

i hate time

insanity of psychological time

"i am happiest" when

"i don't notice time passing."

thirteen minutes

stuart says

'right the fuck off'

adam says

"more abstract thoughts and moods"

than thought

i get it

but like i said

i do it anyway

(though i really wish i wouldn't)

twelve minutes

one moment

incredible, great

whats that mean anyway?

none of it made any sense to me

i hope it made some to you

maybe you could show me

how

eleven minutes

i wonder what's for dinner?

ten minutes

i wonder if he'll come to dinner

i wonder if he'll come tonight

i wonder if i'll come tonight

nine minutes

here comes the white shirt with the round hole

he once wore a pair of shorts

for three days with the same stain

no one said a word

but when i finally did

he scolded me for not telling him sooner

i thought you knew

i'm in the business of wearing

stained clothes

for too long

eight minutes

everyone packs up

i am hacking up

he finally learned how to burp

seven minutes

he once told me

he loves me and though

things didn't work out with his

like-blood

he bleeds for me

like i am in his

still

six minutes

i saw him spoke just there

and it was cute

if he liked my kind

i would hope he'd like me

though

maybe i just need a friend

five minutes

seconds

half of everyone is gone

now

four minutes

he said goodbye

and hello

to her

i am sure

three minutes

lights off

i am

contemplating

leaving

he peers around the corner

something about tabloids

headphones in a pouch and

his thick rims wrapped in plaid

two minutes

on the nose

i will have a cold tomorrow

not sure who planted the seat

but its been awhile

since i've had

a good sick

twenty seven minutes

so much shit to sift shallow alongside your smiling eyes

i might see you but i hope i don't

two weeks

i'd always miss you in the spring

for years we'd spend those two weeks

of our

rekindle and rehash

words we could have spoken

but never did

you wanted me to know

you were sorry

and i wanted you to know

i didn't care

and you told me

we'd meet on a subway one day

in the perfect time

in both of our

lives

and i used to believe that

and it used to keep me sane

and maybe

it still

does

Do you remember when we bought those green apples from the store and we chewed them until our gums bled?

Do you remember when we sat up in that bed watching the witch in the corner, smacking on sugar free ice cream until we were convinced we were eating cream-cheese?

Do you remember driving to the City and slipping in that strange brown substance just above the Church?

Do you remember the first time I saw you and I never really saw you because I could never look at you?

Do you remember telling me you loved me while you held me soaking wet?

Do you remember the book? (you do).

Do you remember waking up with me that early to watch me sweat and pretend you weren't there watching me sweat? (i was soaked with chlorinated water so you wouldn't have noticed what i was wet from)

Do you remember what i wore that night i betrayed you for the first?

Do you remember when i kissed your cousin and acted hurt?

Do you remember when I threatened to shake your diet-soda you held so dearly and promised I wouldn't... and then I did?

Do you remember the first time we stood together in the mirror and I remarked about how I couldn't believe we were standing together in the mirror. That it must be the substance because I can't usually do this?

Do you remember when we first met and we avoided acknowledgment of eachother's presence?

Do you remember looking at my painting and me looking at you?

Do you remember how beautiful I thought you were?

Do you remember staying up all night feeling pretty, teaching me how to play the Cannon on the piano for 8 straight hours?

Do you remember his face in the morning while I played him awake? (he wasn't happy)

Do you remember when I watched you talk about Jesus and we all saw you cry and could you tell how I felt? I commended you on your courage but felt betrayed a little inside.

And do you remember cornering me on the bus talking of the same? DO YOU remember any of us?

Do you remember me introducing myself to you as if you were famous and I, a fan? And you seemed so scared and alone and I seemed so with it and confident? Do you realize now I was just drunk?

Do you remember the night in the park with the lights ? you asked when you'd feel beautiful and we all laughed because it was obvious you already were?

Do you remember my first message to you? Spurred by jealousy of a place I wished I could be.

Do you remember when you told me watching those greats makes you think of me?

Do you remember what I said to you? (I don't).

Do you remember telling me your mother was dying and asking if I would be with you? Do you remember that I told you, 'No'? If your blood is mine do you bleed my remorse?

Do you remember being strong for me even though I should have been for you? Do you know where I went that night?

Do you remember when I could have said goodbye, and instead buried my head in her stomach?

Do you remember when we got The Call?

Do you remember when I called and i heard you cry for her, covered up by your pride for me?

Do you remember the butterflies?

Do you remember the caterpillars?

Do you remember my glasses and streaking my hair with lemons?

Do you remember the moons on her hand and the way her blue eyes sparkled under dim lights?

Do you remember the Indian Princess?

Do you remember asking me to choose a death blanket and I chose red?

Do you remember dying?

Do you remember me leaving?

Do you remember my voided cry and my self involved nature?

Do you remember how much I would have given for you? (Do you remember how much i gave for you?)

Do you remember me?

Do you remember me?

stick a fork in me

I know i am capable of forgiveness because he taught me.

him,

with his thick rims wrapped in plaid

i used to (pretend to)

call home. he looked much different then;

(bodies fluctuate)

and

clothing changes.

though me, i've had the same tattered shirt with the same King since then, and these boots I've taken back from the garage remind me where I've been.

and when you hold me now and then i feel the way your knuckles felt that day

in The Rain

and well,

i had no choice but to run with London Calling and

i did and it was the best for me; though It frightens me to think where I'd be if distance played no part

but I'm glad it did

and when I heard from you for the first in months you told me my heart was big and

my massive pain threshold would take me places and it has

i guess

i can really love someone

i can really, really love someone

i can love you wholly and i will and i do, most of the time. I am a fan of the quiet and the lull between words and i can sit in silence for hours. words have never meant all that much to me.

at least hearing them. though really, silence.

i can sit in loudness for hours too and in fact, that combat cacophony i hear almost daily sometimes makes for the sweetest, sullen moments in mine, and i've fallen asleep next to a buzzing amp with kicking drums too many times to count.

and then there was that time on the cold deck near the water, four hours away from a race soaked in skin and head wrapped in latex, with the whistles and the gunshots, the screams and the splashes. visualizing at first and then. silence. and then.

sleep.

i'd much rather be pulled than pushed and being pushed twice is more times than i seem to be able to handle. And the endless empty packs of his smoke and this half chewed apple make up for lost time in my mind. Sitting on the spout, a fantasy hand-hammered dock outstretched over the water. Thats his dream. I want that for him. She wants to be famous (I don't). I want that for her. He wants her (at least for a little bit) so he should have her. She should have each mind and body she wants and she will get them as long as she asks. Let her have them. Let them have whatever they want. Just don't let them have the parts of me i'll never get back, unless they're going to Stick a Fork In Me first.

the rain

You probably don't like rhubarb. I wouldn't blame you. It took me years to try it, but even still. No one really believes me when I tell them I'm not the biggest fan of pie.

Do you remember our first moment? I remember the first time I realized I was sitting with you to be with you, instead of not being alone. I remember the first time we were alone together, I faked a phone call while you were in the washroom so I could leave. Not because I wanted to leave, but because I knew I had to eventually and wasn't sure how to go about it.

I knew that with me came a lot of history, and you knew that too. But i reassured you in ways that I couldn't reassure myself. I'm good at that, you know. I can play a part perfectly. I still do.

I remember walking back from the store in the pouring rain, not one of us thought to run. I never run in the rain, always taking it as a moment to daydream and fantasize of the romanticism in the falling water. You were never much of a runner, so it didn't surprise me when we continued to walk slowly, hand in hand. I was leaving, my car parked out front, we said goodbye. You held me and your knuckles pressed into my back, gripping to hold on as they always did. Quick motions with your hands, trying to engulf me. You've held me like that since, though not often, and when you do I am reminded that you still know me. As if to tell me that you do, that I still know you. You were the first to know me. it seemed at the time rehashing anything about it would take away its realness. As if we were stuck in some passionate kiss, water seeping into our mouths. We just stood, soaked and held. I remember thinking that moment couldn't possibly become more romantic, and then I heard your words before you said them. "Devon...?"

What followed were the shaky, barely audible words i'd longed to hear, but already knew. I knew from the first night I could have you, which is why I think it took me so long to let you have me. In retrospect, it wasn't long at all. I didn't even really hear you say them but I knew what they were so I never asked you to repeat yourself. We were standing in a movie and in that moment I truly believed some sad soul with a lot of money must have felt the same thing at one time. That those moments we grow up seeing are actually based on reality. Based on us.

I remember feeling lucky. I still feel lucky. I know that will forever be my only moment in the rain.

recently

a push from a pedal and

the wind in my hair

reflections gleaming through the blackness 'round my eyes

shielded by sun beams and dark screens

he moves ahead and waits

i make excuses and pretend

like i know what i am

doing

and where i am

going

almost struck by a passing van

quick lane changes and

there isn't room for me on

this vessel

i should stick to my feet

and the ground

beneath them

there is a reason

i don't climb fences

painted brown projects switch

from one thing to another

i keep having another

hey look! it's still a bag!

folded papers and green rectangles

too much paint

to bear the weight

new heights with him

(and him)

and he is on with me

love-ins nightly

and hate-ons daily

at least i have

the night

on my side

i know i have been distant

from them and the spouts that came

so naturally

she is writing again

(or letting me read it)

and so here i am

(its all i need

apparently)

can't get this weekend out of my head

the memory is fading though from

a scary hallow of unidentifiable words

to a fuzzy warmness of green and blue

and 14-hole boots

with no laces

fall must be here because

i am painting again

and the sounds that escaped my (our)

heart(s) that time

and that time,

and that time

and that time

and that time

and that time

and that time

may fifteenth and

june first and

june fourteenth and

onward

stand static in my ears now

bitten fingers treading

water no longer

nails growing with paint beneath them

our eyes collective

static sounded images

of what was

and what is

and what will be

hey, i'm glad i know you.

and for you, i'm sorry i haven't been around.

recently

9:09 am (again)

He told me he plays the part well
Feels nothing but guilt and even that
He thinks
Is conscious
Sitting on those wooden planks
J and I exchanged stories of M
Bellies aching at his coarse walking
Laugh-track
His strange sweet stink
Impossible to join in
She is someone I have
Never had to try with
And with him! Forever ago
I knew he was something
Taking A's word for it
(i always do)
He sure is something
For some sad soul who
Sinks and slithers among his own
Man-made sin
And the other, ha...
Maybe women really are that powerful
My heart swells at the kindness
Of these people
He says he feels nothing but
Can play the part pretty damn well
I think I feel too much but
I didn't tell him that
Or that I fall in love with many
And that i fell in love right there

Or that

I play the part pretty well
Myself too sometimes

It was one exchange really but
For the evening it felt
Like we were friends
We were all friends
And this paper in my hand fawned
Over with my ringless fingers
Fit for fucking behind something
A consummate course of action
behind that fat drunk laying in his own vomit
(his own piss)
They dragged him
For their own concern
And I missed his goodbye the next day
But the other hugged me twice
Buried his head in my shoulder
And I remember feeling like
I wanted to cry out of a sweet miss

And I realized I've only met him

A handful of times

hey there

hi how are you?

And speaking of babies

There was that one in the enclosure
Glass separating us like-beings
So close in age
I touched the glass and she touched my hand
Made her hairy hands round her eyes
Matching my face
Big bottlepops covering
Crossed eyes

I wore glasses
As a baby

Children have always been drawn to me
Their eyes match mine and I always thought it was due to the size of

them
In proportion to theirs
Same big eyes on a big round head
But I'm starting to think they see who I am
Round like a cats communicate
With blinks
Just the same
I met a baby this weekend who had the same eyes as I did
No one made the connection (even me) but they shared the same roundness
Same colour
Same deep pools of wonder
A child so young her eyes should still be blue
They peered around the room matching each of them as they entered
"where's mumma?!"
She giggled and she banged her head off of tables
At least twice that I saw and I never once saw her cry
When her eyes finally met mine she stared,
Unsure
A familiar stranger perhaps
She wasn't shy
Just quiet
And curious
I puffed and watched her back
Amazed at how much I've forgotten
Bewildered by just how human she was
Her words reminded me

He said they can't remember
And it breaks my heart
That he can't

perhaps thats why

it seems he's always searching

Suppressed memories of
The purest part of a time

Well,
I remember
And I'm sure she does too

perhaps

i don't know where i'm going and i don't know when i'll get there

(i won't get there, and neither will you, but the fight of the journey will make us think we're making progress).

some places i'd like to be, and others i think i could do without.

perhaps because i've been there

and don't intend on ever going back.

with you maybe that is out of reach, and i am confident one day i will reach a something that will tell me

yes or no

stay or go

i am at least that confident in myself

my innate need to do what my heart wants

ignoring all the no's

and the signs to run

run

and never come back

i always have lived by the heart

despite being blinded by how i got to be like this

unlearned, just born

taught myself everything is worth sacrificing

for even a little bit of

love

i know i don't have much control over this

but i know the answer will come

eventually

i sat and waited a lot this weekend

i waited for you but mostly

i waited for me

let my body control my steps

i watched the water with my camera but didn't capture it

kept it in my mind and asked myself to remember

pleaded with myself to let go

and leave

he took a picture

i smoked while i pondered things

i'm always pondering things

rarely doing much with the conclusions i draw

don't do much with most things i draw

and while you slept i realized many things

he told me i was the best you've had

the best for you

i told him that was sweet and once

that would have been enough

but

not anymore

though i did cry a little

i torture myself most and there isn't much room

for much more of that

especially not from pockets of love

i spent the night with him

and her and her and her father

old friends of a love and

they spent their time with him through me

asking things i couldn't answer

same old guy

playing the part

i wonder why he hurts so bad

i wonder why he hates me

(sometimes)

i wonder when i'll get the strength

i need