Random poet's lament

Paris Hilton,
you’ve changed, baby.

Update!

So, I had another computer crash. I’m now working on a glorious P3 with French software. If you’d like to donate to my “Buy a poet a laptop” fund, just let me know.
School work is piling up, productivity is going down.
Stress is up, blog posts are down.
Wish me luck.

Sunday, February 5, 2006

it's a nursery rhyme. it's called:


sweet dreams, Sarah Goodnight

locked out of your rocketship
you’ll finally make it home.

float back from your pocket trip
with tearsongs on the phone.

distance gives a happycone
and makes them wash away.

eightball rubric’s wishingstone,
see? everything’s okay

Saturday, February 3, 2006

So, January started off pretty good on the daily posting scale with like, what, 12 consecutive posts? Then my hard drive crashed. As soon as I got set up on another computer, that hard drive crashed. Oi. So I finally bit the bullet and bought a brand new one. Ugh. At least January ended up being better than December. But I'm back now. We'll see how February goes. Here's a new one, in progress:

Second Thoughts

I guess it’s the little things that signal
that it never could have worked:
I like crunchy peanut butter,
and she likes bulimia.
I like Swiss cheese,
and she likes breaking lamps.
I like getting up early,
and she hears voices.

I guess I buy all that,
although I thought we’d work well:
She was interested in me,
and I love talking about myself.
She loved drinking too much wine
and I love scoring.
She kept seashells on her headboard
and I’m not afraid of drowning.
She loved mythology
and I love being left alone.
She likes staying in,
and I’m unhealthily jealous.
She had a webcam,
and I like having low-res titties on my desktop.

Random poet's insult

If I had a Snickers for every phrase I coined,
I'd be your mom.

Wednesday, February 1

This poem is a villanelle composed of haikus. Ain't I clever?

The Suck

Drink the bitter stuff.
Down it till you’re feeling cool,
Curl up with the suck

Rifle through the cup
Damn the dead bad drops of blues;
Drink the bitter stuff

Losing her, sho’nuff;
Your baby’s bending the truth.
Curl up with the suck

Lock the gear in stuck.
You’re gonna crash, prob’ly soon;
Drink the bitter stuff

Luck tank’s leaking luck,
Let it leak, it’s good for you.
Curl up with the suck.

Hit a patch of rough?
Only one thing gets you through:
Drink the bitter stuff,
Curl up with the suck.

Thursday, January 12

Looks like I’m starting a hippy haiku trend. Hope I’m not being too conservative.

sad hippy punk haiku

tattoo hippy punk
got a hole in his Converse
needs new shoes, looks sad

bonus poem, for Car

a haiku

Organic hippie
Searching for “fair trade” coffee
reeking of compost.

Tuesday, January 10

a haiku

Southeast Asian man,
burps while shoveling, pauses,
kicks snow from his boot.

Monday, January 9

when I think of kissing you
(loops and daisies tumbling)
puckered lips are latches
(ribbon, sparks and candy)
that open mouths like doors.

holding our breath’s writing a contract
(sissy whimpers all pussed out)
and we can see through curtained windows
(blastoff moonbeams in between)
how our tongues are shaking hands..

Sunday, January 8

(some rhyming couplets about monkeys)

The pygmy marmoset is the smallest living monkey,
so it uses its suprapubic scent glands to mark its territory.

Saddle-backed tamarins birth twins each an eighth of the mother’s size
and practice polyandry – that’s many husbands, not many wives.

Cotton-top tamarins use their genitals to resolve all conflicts:
instead of fighting with their muscles, they show off their dicks.

Friday, January 6

a haiku

tires spin on my street.
my world has gotten too small.
medivac me out.

Thursday, January 5

Winter Sky – a haiku

cold city night sky:
a dark bright shade of orange
that’s unpaintable

Wednesday, January 4

Bio-Dome

There are two calimico monkeys that live at the Bio-Dome.
I named one Jabari and one Al (short for Alice).
They have furry little black faces and bodies and
cute little pink tongues you can see when they eat.
The plaque outside their little enclosure says
they eat fruits, insects and small vertebrates
and shows where in the world they are from:
just one little red area in Ecuador.
Both of them can jump three to four metres standing
but Al can jump farther than Jabari, I’ve decided.
When I saw them Jabari was in the high branches,
rubbing his scent on a tree trunk, as usual,
and Al was on a tree stump with apple slices,
pretending not to notice me and the busloads of Koreans.
Calimicos are excellent communicators
and I think Al and Jabari are friends.
Not the kind of friends that you’d really do things
like play paintball or paint pottery with;
more like the kind whom you call your best friend
even though you only ever see them
when you’re each with your boyfriend or girlfriend
at the occasional get together of your circle of friends,
and you’d never call to say what’s up—
unless you want to call up some old memories
of participating in an extreme sport
or doing some creative but practically useful activity together—
because you’ve known each other for so long
that you can’t really be original with them anymore.
Jabari and Al are those kinds of friends.
Only they also live together, groom each other,
eat only fruits, insects, and small vertebrates,
can leap three to four metres from standing,
are dispossessed from their little red homeland,
were never secretly in love with each other
but were too young and afraid to admit it, and
have furry little black faces with cute little pink tongues.

Tuesday, January 3

On the corner of Fullum and Marie-Anne
today at three o’clock
there will be an earthquake.

Because she didn’t opt for the winter tire package,
Louise Therrien’s new Kia will skid on the ice
that has accumulated at the crosswalk on Fullum at Marie-Anne,

right beside Baldwin park
where Eric Maisoneuve was pulling his infant son David
on his new, his first, CCM toboggan this afternoon.

Today at three o’clock
on the corner of Fullum and Marie-Anne
Louise and Eric’s worlds will collide and shake.

Monday, January 2

a haiku

someday you’ll find me
a saffron monk in a square
put plums in my bowl

New Year's bonus poem

First of January

I have not put one foot outside of my apartment today.
Not even opened the door.

There’s a first of January for you.
Give me 31 days and I’ll give you a first of February too.

Sunday, January 1

Bonne Année, hein?

comin home aloneshokay
when yer wishin happy new year
bonne annee
to everyone along the way

« bonne année mon ami!
eh, j’ai des chips ici -- veut-tu des chips?
ils sont barbecues.
tiens.
de rien, mon homme. ciao.bonne année! »

Friday Morning - Back from holidays

(fragment – “Good Friends”)

Last night our lights were hung real high and twinkling
Twinkling
Left the party, here we walked and shit we talked was babbling
Babbling
Good friends can get so curious eventually
eventually
my home is where we laid it down like urgency
emergencey
and we should not be doing this
but here we are, we’re doing this
Recluse rebels spidering in symmetry
proximity
Combining mismatched handmedowns so pleasuring
pleasuring

Friday morning

Redo the thing

Honey do that thing
The pigtails and teddy bear laugh.
There’s beautiful women everywhere I look
I need to remember why it’s your purse I’m holding.
Wanna relearn falling asleep with the phone to my ear.
Wanna redo clumsy first handjobs and holding in our farts.
Wanna reprize our time together.

Baby do that thing
shotgun a beercan and encore it to celebrate.
Wanna uncall you a rotten dirtslit.
Wanna unsleep with that Pizza Hut girl.
Wanna unhate your dirty hair.

Honey do that thing –
the
       voice –
  the
            walk –
  the –

whatever it was
I forget

But do it
I’ll remember