In this Valley

April 5, 2018

I held a hand, rough but not large, above the center console. A microwave clock that twenty four hours later had already lost time.

On the mountain my rubber soles melted close to the fire.  His vigil until dawn.

 

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Missed Connection #1

December 21, 2017

You were young, gaunt, with clever fingers. In brown thrift store velour or a blue army surplus sweater. I caught your eye over the bookshelf. You smelled like cigarettes. You said you were straight. I smiled and said, we’ll see in a few years.

Queen of Swords

April 21, 2017

I felt the tension and jagged release of your mind.

Your young face, forever beautiful. The knot at my centre tightens.

Black March

March 19, 2016

These days have heavy skies, gutters backlogged with drowning worms, horrible pregnant crayfish making their insistent way. The wind changes direction and the sky is pink at the edges.

I remember you when the seasons change. It’s lucky I don’t have the choice, because I would give everything, anyone, my life, to talk to you again.

On that yellow bike

January 15, 2015

What name in crude black paint the shared bike had. I’m sorry on the painted over Norco with the whitewalls I didn’t reach back to you. How much fuckery was I supposed to take?

Your Father

November 24, 2014

Your father doesn’t know why, a dozen years later. I have an answer he can’t receive. Our losses barely resemble each other.

Love

June 5, 2014

Memories I know are not my own and yet I myself see her, crazy little elf in sock feet, fine hair lit by grey plasma from the hall light behind. I see the ceiling I wrote on through your eyes while you lay there.

The thoughts of one body were transferred to another.

Too young to know what means such reckless magic.

Searching

May 15, 2014

No search can emerge you now. The old content rearranges itself, never revealing anything. I’ll never find anything.

September 8, 2013

I didn’t mean it, baby.

September 6, 2013

That October, on the first night with them, I hardly thought of you. You left a voicemail and threw your wallet from the Bloor Viaduct.

That rancid summer, the summer you rode those yellow community bicycles, we climbed to the top of the malt plant with a couple of other people.