Oranges Everywhere

there is hair everywhere.
there are oranges everywhere.

there are traces of you not here
everywhere.

he said,
you must learn to share the sidewalk,
he said,
he said,
oranges are not worth the colour
they leave on your hands,
he said.

oranges are not worth the time,
the taste is not worth the time.

oranges under your pillow
in liquid and peeling form,

hair under my pillow,
another trace of you not here again.

in one piece, wishes,
in many, some time.

oranges under your pillow
you threw me there each time I left,

a treat for later,
he said.

If You Can't Cut It Whole, It Shouldn't Count

Who needs symmetry?

She tells me hearts are symmetrical.
The only symmetrical hearts that I have ever seen,
were the ones made by folding the paper
and cutting only one half of the shape out.

Cheating.

And the ones that were made for the stores,
manufactured,
measured, not real.
If symmetry is to be applied here,
I do not want it.

And what of Rod Stewart's face?
Rod Stewart's face,
is not symmetrical.

He is inticing me with one side of his smile,
one side of his eyelid shut less,
and he is not symmetrical.

If Rod won't have it, then neither will I.

I remember symmetry. Symmetry is colours
on one half of the paper only
and folding it over to share your creation.
That is symmetry if you get it right,
but if you're like me

you'll probably stick your finger in one side
before the paint is dry.

Je Ne Sais Quois

Boys must have wandering eyes,
nice shoes and dead talent.

Boys must have girls on the side,
inconspicuous smiles and wicked jeans.

Boys must have je ne sais quois,
girls on the side and something good to give.

Boys must have love,
good hair, good eyes.

Boys must have good eyes,
good love, and trust to give.

Boys must have girls, eyes, shoes,
danger on their skin, and looks to give.

One Of Three I Can Stand

when i am drunk

i act
like pink bubblegum,

and then

like
gin and tonics,

and in the morning

i act
like cappucino

brewing between the boundaries

of whatever glass
i can slide
into.

Cigarette Woman

twenty packs, twenty five packs, ten packs,
its all the same to me.
are cigarettes time bombs?

they should make them in tens,
in case you don't want as many;
my grandma used to say a ten pack
would last her a month,

she didn't smoke much though.

it lasts for half an hour,
time frozen.
why are we having
this conversation.

cigarettes are disgusting,
responsible for your teeth,
you hair, your skin.

sick,
is what you look like. you're lucky
you got away while you did.

having a conversation with my mother
is trying to win
an
impossible argument.

she remembers differently,
every time.

takes her six conversations to get it
straight in the first place.
the longest brawl we've ever had:

i'm packing my boxes.
no you aren't. i'm going to sit in your room while
you're gone and feel you.
no, i'm packing my life into boxes.

she remembers it differently
of course; changed her mind when
she decided to renovate.

got angry at me
for not
packing
my life
away.

says its my fault,
all my things have disappeared.

my mother smoked for a lifetime,
until we told her she was stopping.

we couldn't stand her life then,
or the reflection of
it onto ours.

but she thinks different of this too.

possibly,
wouldn't mind starting up again,
by the look of this cigarette pack
dissertation.

Teacher Says I'm Clever

that crazy bitch:
you watch your ass or i will kick it.

she offers me a job,
tells me later, about the respect
inside the classroom.
that crazy bitch:

i had to lie about my due date,
spitting something out about my gums,
showing her my teeth,
making her believe my lies,

and then she gave me one hundred percent,
hands down.

that crazy bitch:
she writes "Sigmund Freud" on the board
and asks my opinion before ripping
his theories apart.

that deserves an academic discourse checkmark,
dear. good for you.

that crazy bitch:
it looks like a couple people in the classroom
have a crush,
is that my in?

that crazy whore, she says:
do not fry your brain and come to my classroom,
do not fry your brains at all,
but especially do not come to my classroom,
if you have fried your brain.

so sometimes i come,
and sometimes i make an excuse,
sign my eighteen year old self out at the office,
and then meet laura out front
for a session at the water.

Only Boys With Mohawks

mohawk boy
you have sex written all over you,

your gaze,
your hair,
your hands in mine,

you must have something for my
fingers to get stuck in,

like my foot is getting stuck in your limbs
my hand is getting stuck against yours,

your shearling jacket,
mohawk boy

you are perfect for me.

and then the night is over
and you are gone.

i go back to thinking where i can get
sex as good as yours,

and then i remember the impossibility of appearances
the impossibility of sincerity,

with a boy like you.

Life Inside Her Womb

it is not even worth it anymore
listening to the iron thread
twisting itself inside my skull.

its not even worth it.

don't show her the light
you should have known,
and now she wants it,
more than you did.

don't show her the light.

don't listen to the womb screaming
in the morning and at night,
a wooohha woooh aa whooooo
has someone been a baaaad boy?
yes you haaaaveeee.

don't talk to my child that way,
my child is a person.

it's not even worth listening to
the iron thread
twisting its way inside and out
of the left side of my brain

because there is nothing
she can do
to stop it now.

Fancy Meeting You Here

the woman in the roses
has been watching you
since you came into the
theatre.
you laugh, she laughs.
each time you laugh,
so does she.

letter, letter, laugh,
laugh, laugh, letter, letter.

everytime you laugh,
so does she,
watching you from her seat
two rows back and one row over.

the woman in the roses
has been watching you
since I got here.

Apples, Please

i used to ask my mother for apples
just so i could watch her use the"machine"
that cut them into perfect pieces.

and then the apple
would get brown over the time it took
me not to eat it.

today i carved all of the skin off
of an apple and i cried at the empty shell
of it that was left behind, left standing
perfectly on the table as though i had never
removed it in the first place.

The Moon In the Wind

The moon is shining bright today
and I think I found you.

Those are the most clever blacks
that I have ever seen.

That is the most clever word
that I have ever seen.

You used to ask me to marry you
every time I found you sitting under
the moon.

Will you be my hippie?
You could have said
but instead you made me promises
that you could never keep.

And now I want you
to be me
and I want to be you too.

Black Like This (Getting Lost in Acronyms)

this sheath reminds me of the times
we spent talking around each others
lives on your couch one night.

so you bought the dress for tonight, did you?
that's crazy.

you're crazy.
there we go again with romance.
there we go again with thinking we are fitting
into each others palms again.

there we go with taking off our clothes
again
and being naked.

i like sleeping beside you tall friend.
its like slipping under each others eyelids
for a second, and smearing the black and red
we find, across each others faces,

and then waking to find each other tall again.
or small i suppose.

i wish that you
would pull the sheets over my head again,

like you did that time i woke only to find myself
cold and naked on your bedspread
and you creeping up quietly,

lifting my pale skin into your arms
and cocooning me into your comforter
and into your warm body.

this sheath reminds me of all the mistakes
we make in the morning,

lifting keys off of the table and
never finding words enough to make each other
want to stay.

when she saw you
she said, i get it.

and today i wear you,
this sheath

over my skin
as though there is nothing

underneath it
as though i am myself again.

Windy Situation

they forgot to shut the door
on the masquerade ball,
all the people that do work here.

i've been walking around
with my head cut off,

i mean,

i've been floating around
with my head cut off,

i mean,

i've been pushed around
with my head cut off,

all day now.

do you play the cello, masquerade?
do you play the banjo, masquerade?
do you play the flute dear, masquerade?

,all day.

Why do you call her searching, I must know.

who are the people that come here?
i must know them.

look inside your wooden place,
and hand me the key,
we are all the same here,
we all came from trees.

find yourself a Muse,
and paint them.
i've got a Muse around.

look yourself inside,
and paint all the things you see,
a plate, a fork, a tree.

who are the people that come here?
that became here.
i must know
a single part of where they come.

Do You Mind If I Sit Here?

And by sit here I mean sit,
Asian pride.

I seek comfort in you.

It Sounds Better If You Whisper

there are gems falling from the sky,
much unlike the ones around my wrist
or the ones adorning mon parapluie;

not one place of the sidewalk left
untouched,
not one side of my flighty
armour left unsparkled by them.

there are gems
falling
in all directions
from the sky,

forming sheets of glass where we step,
look, fall,

think to ourselves,
what would it be like,

to sparkle like that,
send warning;
what would it be like,

to fall in sheets against the sky.

i knew the night would end like this
while i stood inside the quiet house,
shaking gems from empty hands.

my thoughts fermented by them,
thinking i might have evidence
enough now,
to leave.

Charmed, I'm Sure

never know when you might
be found or by who.

he says, "baby you look great,
what's your trade."

The Lovely

Little Sister,
Please don't beat me, Little Sister.
I've got nothing left in this world,
If you do.
This is it.

(It's only natural I know,
For you to grow,
But please,
Please just don't).

I Bought a Necklace; You Bought Self Tanner, Bleach and a Ticket to Cancun.

I envy your disillusionment,

your jaded,
self-involvement,
your tired hands,
weak and dying hair,

your complaints,
and
or bragging rights.

I envy your lack
of perception,

of concern,

your ability to see the world
at such a level

(you will hear, "know" but
never change).

I envy your lack of need
to impress me,
surpass me,
be me.

I envy your life,
the money wasted on vain endeavours,

and your sense of disillusion,
with everything that is real.

It Ain't Published, And It Ain't Good.

i want us to travel
across this map filtered paradise,

eating new food together,
buying new clothes together,
learning new words together,
shaking new hands.

heating our curls straight
between two plates
to strike the boys eyes

as pretty.

not the same girl as before
i am sure,
sarah, caitlin, diane, marissa,
whatever

we have no need for names,
just earrings and drinks and boys
and new skin
and new shoes
and new food
and new tables,

and you will see new words
and the time at which
they grace my pen
and you will read my stories
of the world

of our adventures,
growing slowly in and out
of each other,
curly hair raving in the wind,
the thought that roots like
these came from genes the same,

and we will laugh and dance
and you will see my words,
and you will see that poetry
my friend is not bashing or scared
or lonely or desperate

but a photo of my face
with your face smiling in the background,
our hair fading into each others,

noone able to tell where it started.