Jocks For Our Hearts

you demand the drama, the sexiest quality of every television show out there; we should all be supporting jocks for our hearts. when did the heart become this other thing that doesnt need protecting, a condom to ward off an infestation of hatred and lust that seems to percolate endlessly. the drip of dreams and wants and desires brewing a steaming cup of contemplations. to weigh the options heavily on the cutting board before slicing into each tiny detail later down the line, when you've made up your mind and things suddenly start to bother you it won't matter then, you won't suit up and make a move you'll adjust the jock and shut up and move on and let your heart twist with the bitterness of stale candy. you demand the drama, boys and girls of this weirdo lifestyle.

Strange Times & Odd Disguises

I continuously lean onto people on public transit, their eyes constantly racing; dragging across trees and cement and billboards and empty bottles. I catch fragments in their pupils. They lick their lips at the thought of the last wine drop drying in the bottom of a dislocated bottle, lodged between a bus stop and an abandon parking lot, silently self-hating themselves for never being able to obtain the crispness of the billboard people. A deep dissatisfaction flutters with their eyelashes and if I could see things through their eyes I think I would be unhappier than I already am. Strange times and odd disguises for what we all call worth. An assumed tragedy to one is nothing but a paper cut to another. Swallowing empty feelings and waiting to approach your stop you can't help but find home in their eyes. The images of their futures happening in milliseconds in swift paintbrush strokes, you can't help but want to tell them their fortune. That they will get off this bus and something will happen. Something always happens. 

Thoughts Unravel Like Her Ponytail

His thoughts unravel like her ponytail, cascading down his spine. His eyes blink sleep away and as his lids hiccup his brain reflects on the stains of her image that smile murkily back at him. This tugs on the corner of his mouth and he puckers his lips, little pulsating movements as if he is searching for her mouth or collarbone or heart to leave an impression of himself on her. He licks his lips and let's them air dry, they crack and he smiles out loud remembering a time she shared her freshly chapsticked lips with his to punctuate his remedy. He taps his toe to swooshing sound of blood that zips up and down and over and across his body. He pulls a chunk of something out of his pocket, rubs it between his fingers as if it's a crisp one hundred dollar bill, he covers his eyes with it— willing to see its treasures. Slowly he opens it and there she is, diving into her azure eyes he is immediately transported to a time and place that could've would've should've happened if she had just decided to really see him. 

Summer, a Hot Dandy Lioness

has the summer season perhaps just toyed with our emotions, pretending to be all hot and interesting like the sleazy eyed girl at the bar, furthest from the crowd downing whiskey sours like no one is watching only to scold us with a cold gust of dissatisfaction to fall suddenly and crisply into a tundra faced bitch. luring you in with that break of dawn mouth, a hot breath laced with sweet nothings hits your neck making you sweat, she notices you're enjoying her company or perhaps her attributes and closes off. sitting perched on her bar stool you watch the hot dandy lioness transform to the ice queen. Better get your parka, the ice cube she is about to lob at you isn't going to make mouth to mouth contact, she's aiming for your core and you best beware of the hurricane storm.. 

Call it a night, better take flight for Hibernation Nation has come early this year and Miss Summer Thang is taking flight.

Infringement Life

the devilish relaxation that comes with the dividing of things, the neatly tucking away all the sorrows in each corner of the room to preserve its disappearance.. we will never use these corners again. stay close to the middle of things and do not touch the edges, like an old child's game of lava. hearts will sink as they beat and ebb and flow and things will not make sense, and not everything will add up correctly. the game of subtraction can be quite light depending on your reasons for suffering. do not be sad, for anger is easier to handle. keep eyes dry while passing the time and do not mind the infringement that is taking its toll on your life. justice, im not sure there is a thing, but do not pray to mock gods in frocked costumes looking for a savior, sink your teeth in for support, its going to be quite the adventure through your newly tinted 

(or have they been cleaned) glasses.

Horde Your Emotions, Start The Poaching

the rhetorical expressions, the damned feeling damned in a world of damnation. funny how things don't matter until they've seemed to pick someone else's brain matter. there is no temperamental idealistics when the pot is calling the kettle black. harvest season is approaching, horde your emotions and start the poaching. two wrongs don't make a right but it makes the wrongs rightly wrong. hushed dislike fueled by the explosion of opinions that have seemed to burst through the already cracking egg shell. you're hardly as innocent as you're ventriloquist face perceives and i haven't been given the opportunity to deceive you, try me.. i dare you. the wishy washy tone of your whole existence is trying to paint a satire picture for your dwindling audience. rise to the occasion, welcome to the freak show, we're different types of monsters but i'm sure we can handle this like mere foes.

Isolation Nation. Population: ?

it is odd, watching you try to cram 

yourself into the weak frame of another person. 

taking all their insecurities and wearing them as your own, 

but not in a protective or slightly loving way, 

in an obsessive and crazed kind. 

isolation nation, population two

or possibly only one. 

two faced, and not in a catty way 

this isn't high school musical 

cause you're just a mean girl 

but, you, you look just the same 

with a tomboy slant on a pair of rubber bands. 

gross. and ill watch you two bounce 

and crash hard into one another, 

a pair of moths with no flame, 

but everyone around you definitely enraged.

Highlighted Like a Fact

sitting on the floor, 
throwing cigarette butts 
up towards the disco ball. 
their red tips look like 
lipsticked fish kissing 
the shards of mirrored glass that fit 
so clumsily amidst it's sphere. 
i watch the smoke catch the light 
and i allow the beauty to explode into me. 
i feel the airy ways flick at me like tentacles 
on a radioactive jellyfish 
and i am certain that if anything makes sense, 
it is this right now. 
the scratch of the lighter signifies light, 
and as if a horny teenager 
desperate for alone time, 
i am highlighted like a fact in a textbook.

Enemies, Welcome

empty bird cages 

house my thoughts

all my enemies welcome 

to the boiling pot

systematic lane changes

i don't give a what?  

think you're being puny, 

of course you're not.. 
word game, world game, 

scrabblin' your brain
..and the lack of imagination 

is no gain all loss

 weak sauce, your toss. 

careful of the edge, 
i heard the last guy that fell over ended up dead.

Puppy Love Drowned in the Punch

to charm motorways and allow you to go away,
far away, and drown in all this profoundness 
that you think you have obtained 
while you've kept body and mind detained
build the walls of your 
welfare castle and tuck all your tiny 
belongings into perfect 
boxes and there i see in a 
coffin of misshapen rust is a soul 
you might have once 
owned but now sold for 
a cash cow of lust
puppy love drowned in the punch
drunk is the trust that has been ill-invested,
bankrupt of oneself if was bound to happen, 
if there was even an original you from the start, 
puppet fornication playing house in borrowed dress up

Lego Love Lockdown

He moves his arm in an upward motion, like a movie scene karate chop in reverse. A faint hint of bubble gum comes off his cuff and embraces my senses and I am immediately drawn to this stranger. He isn't shaking my hand but I feel like I want to reach out and try, just in case he might want too. He is speaking very quickly and quietly to my colleague, I am trying to read his lips but I don't know how to read lips. Before I know it, their conversation is over, queue the reverse karate chop and whiff of bubble gum. He turns to go. I plead with everything inside me that he will look at me and like to chunks of Lego our eyes lock.

Overtime the Lego pieces add up and continue to build this structure. Each date almost creates a snapping sound of colourful plastic chunks interlocking; a dinner and a movie, a walk in the park, an exhibit at the gallery... snap, snap, snap. It isn't solid, but the weight of my words can't seem to knock away any of the pieces. The structure looses it's bubble gum scent quicker than expected. The Lego becomes dull and eventually I am searching for one of those window inserts so I can see beyond the structure and maybe even see myself, through Lego eyes, in the tiny plastic reflection.

Swoon Over Young Thugs

Sometimes I just want to swoon over young thugs. They're so tough yet so kind. They have a way with loyalty that is so cut and dry that you almost wish you could apply it to everything in your life. The essence of living in a young thug thrives off the times and embeds reason and passion with an intensity as sharp as knives. Their toughness doesn't even diminish their character, it highlights their beliefs and displays them on the cuff of a pair of jeans that seem too big but might just be housing all the personality, conflict in denim.

Personal Waves

The patterns I trace along your knee caps while we wait for the bus are all the secrets I will eventually form into words and share with you. But I like knowing that you're carrying them around for the world to see without even knowing it and still feeling triumphant before you have to decide if the weight of the words will break up our shoreline. But if I am lucky, like I think I will be, you'll allow our personal waves to rush real close and drag those words out into our ocean and our bodies will collide like all the water drops in the world do when they fall from the heaven and descend towards earth.

Cigarette People of Absolute Sadness

The constant static cling that keeps bashing them together is causing these tremors within our pool of -~ships and there is a certain amount of distaste that stains my eyes, my lips, and my mind when I am surrounded by its force. There is a serious amount of strangeness that keeps the odd ball rolling around like a game of pinball. Everything lights up because you think you're in love but the lusty labors of your effects are only dissolving the reality that you've disconnected from. Be mindful that not everything is sunshine and your sun  could disappear, the way it does at night, and you'll have nothing but a sense of loneliness, the same feeling you continuously try to stop with the overuse of people. People are not the answer. They are not the drug. They'll get you high and you'll end up dry because the shell of your self will still be nothing but a shell. Quit while your ahead, you cigarette people of absolute sadness. You don't have to over extend to appreciate things in love at a steady hand instead of crashing head first into stupidity. Enveloping your surroundings in goodbye and casting away on an island we won't want to visit when the shipwrecks. We'll be here, like always, but consider us before you allow yourself to forget us.

Acronyms, Scary Time To Be Alive

unprepared for the generation and the generation ain't prepared. starving television sets send you off to bed and get inside your head. looming curiosity killed the cat with the snap back and the tough phase has ended with bitter romance. the streets open up, open house for youth, the streets close up, open house for youth. shooting soda pop to skip time, writing rhymes and committing crimes, the grime of the generation is popping corn for our lives. we've tuned in to the mass generation of 'i don't knows' and acronyms and its a scary time to be alive.

Thigh High Vibes

i want the words to slip out 

from under your teeth 

telling me breathlessly that

you are as hot as the sun

and feeling album vibes

right there, 

between your thighs

Design In Your Froth

their voice was as smooth as an exhale on a desired cigarette, it spilled out in a straight line, a dart searching for it's bulls eye, and it doused your entire senses with this intoxicated cleanse that you could swear you were a little high. their voice followed you around long after the words had evaporated from your surroundings, they'd follow you home and even the simplest of sentences suddenly seemed sexy. the first sip of a cappuccino, a voice with a design in it's froth, in a perfect cup and saucer. the kind where the heat warms your hands and that sip warms your entire being. a voice that could arouse you and put you to sleep, could calm you and get you excited, a voice with a ribbon of confidence, care and certainty. a voice that reasons with reason and pushes you and encourages you to do something. a voice you go to sleep sometimes thinking about, and you don't know why, and you aren't sure but you try to still hear it.

We Create Condensation

We've created condensation.

I trace our heavy breathing in the windows of the back seat of your brother's mustang.
We've crumpled ourselves into a spit ball, all limbs and soggy skin.
Our hair mashes into one another, forming constellations on our foreheads.
We aren't that young and not that in love, but we find solace here within each other.
You're much wiser than I remember.
You wear combat like a pair of gloves, I can feel your battles in your hands.

Your eyes beg me to spill about my troubles, but you mouth doesn't dare speak.

You lap at my skin like a thirsty kitten, I can't help but feel at home.

You've got to get back..

You have to get back…

I have to go…

We've created condensation. 

After Party Clouds

severe after party clouds leave melted steeze across a celebratory sky and in the mesh of life there is a diluted pride that heaves with a vomitty smell of insecurity that has been pooling under dancing shoes for hours of drinking and smoking and laughing at things that aren't even that funny. ashtrays hiding the ashes of love and lust and sit in little mountains that demand you step slowly around them so they don't budge and don't shift and stay there tall, mocking you from the coffee table. empty bottles chime home time with a burpy breeze of filth that hangs in the air like a stink bomb just went off. music whispering too loudly all of your last nights activities and sleepy eyes filled with powdered poisons flicker up and down from their slumped positions on the pee coloured carpet as if taking tiny snapshots of your humiliation.

The Shade of Moonlight

Ultraviolet love orbs catapult and shatter glitter the shade of moonlight all over your day. Do something absolutely lovely and wear your sunnies like the cigarette smoke is too bright and the weather understands you best. Write it all down. Everything. Keep the fragments. Trace your name in the stardust and allow the ocean to pool within your eyes and live along your coastline with the etching mountains reflecting the truths that are housed within your collarbones.