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for a long while, i thought the prince edward viaduct had streams of water pouring out of the top and through the bottom on the north and south sidewalks. i tried to tell you about the streams but you were smoking out the window and spitting out the window(more)
"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."

he's yelling at me on the phone and i'm placing the phone on the garbage can lid. it's one of those teeter totter lids that gets stuck on bundles of used tissue.
"There is a certain slant of light."

It's about time to drive yourself crazy. Book a flight to Spain to have human trafficking haunt you. Take a job at a bookstore to put more knots in your back. Pick up English courses to put more notches in your(more)
I shall never get you put together entirely.

The messages are inconsistent. But I have viewed them all. And I know.

I think of you when I hear The Growlers. And all the authors.

d.h. lawrence went to mexico. that's more than i know of you. They Spoke In Capitals In Mexico.

henry miller went to marousi. that's somewhere far from you. he didn't say much but he listened.
sunned in for a short speckle 'til its gone again to someone else's window. yellow flowers push against ceiling, roof and sky in exchange for just a flicker of that warm sunlight.

but no room left there (more)
the man in
broken glass -
his black tar soul.

crawling off (more)
Amelia pushed gray-red curls off the delicate piece of paper before her - the type they use in bibles - and, in her delicate hand, hand wrote a short list of items. She handed it to me.

"Here it is." (more)
"Are ya'as innocent as ya look?"

"How innocent do I look?" I reach over the counter and grab a shooter glass. I fill it 'ith pilsner and toss it at my face. One chug.
Tell me, are you the only one here? I follow you around with my pearly white eyes and they shine at you and you know. You know everything in the room. Eyes in your hands and on your head and in your ass, watching it all.
The loyal woman will not let you walk on her floor mats, scraping the dignity off your boots. The disloyal woman is hiding behind charity and pattern. Yet, she is unaware of her disloyalty. The intentions are sewn into cotton ball clouds, waiting for the flood.
There is a point when a candle’s wick will continue to burn, even when the flame is long gone. Gray smoke rises and chars the top ridge of the candle holder and pierces my nostrils. I always consider different ways to kill the flame. I could flick it with(more)
when the pattern is ingrained, i'll misplace it amidst the day-to-day. there is an unconscious anxiety of waiting on words from those unspoken, foregone romances that i'd once strewn across my bedroom floorboards and all over my plain. but when the words come, i lay down my hard coverings(more)
I'm without a hair-tie to tie it all back and up and out of the way. I brush at it and my ring gets caught and rips thin, dirty blonde pieces from my head. They will fall out if I rip or if I do not. I can choose(more)
if you choose the right instance, you can listen to the lake melt. its soft sonance drips like a stream. soft, crisp ripples dribble in meager pools of frigid ice water thawed atop the solid slat of lake-sized ice sheet.