The Neighbourhood on a Monday Morning



You will ask: what are the horrors of patriotism?

I watched as blood ran down the loosely lined streets—soft billows of hate still rising

each staking their claim, each proclaiming their repugnant holiness, sinew stuck between their teeth

how quaint, your holy city, filled with the corpses of each other, each the others enemy

how endearing & sweet, I can smell the refuse of Gehenna burning, the valley churning as you pillage for another body to burn

how holy. how holy.

what is holier than all the holy wars. what is more joyous than to wrap our gifts in guts—all pounded out & tenderized, a small slip of vein bowed up around the bomb.

Oh, how long is this war.

How often I’ve felt the bones beneath me, crunching, giving way to another layer of death.

Patriotism & religion. They sour my soul. They mark themselves as unholy despite their blood-lust claims.


there is strange deep pain attached to this encompassing blackness

4:15 sunsets & dark dreams

quiet aches & itches

I am a cold gathering of flesh around

this warmth of mistiness & spirit

a soul, lost in the depths of all this

unprovoked memory—holding you here against the balm of me


fragility—this faint blueness that rivers up the wrists

vulnerable & powerful, the same

that tenderness, that quaint, that faint of pulse & flutters that find themselves

exposed, throbbing

what is the rate, the force, the variation?

what is your exquisite triviality?

—the forest thick, the wilderness screaming I wander this sweet portage ever so quietly


In those shadows that close down

Winter’s pithy greyness

Slipping around the other round

There lies

All things consumed & rising—

The skeleton & the young babe

Eyes can’t focus in the fog

& we’re not soul nor whole anymore

We squirm in little circles

Our hips pinned to

The ice & the ground

Come back.

Come back with life glasped between

Your teeth.

Fade up into the blues of my memory

Of summer & ache & joy—Joy being the most resplendent ache.

Surface. Pull the breath from the air


Slip ’round the other round.

The Day

…and there it was

The day of the dead, pretty bold & pretty blue

And all they thought was thoughts of you

Your tussled hair, your broken speech

Your broken heart, when you would attempt to speak

Wandering in the broken blue, the memories we flooded forth

Of you, of you.

We gathered close to feel each tear, this one huddled to the other near

We let trickle to the long long fall, the whisper of the moments each recall

So wave now, that solemn farewell,

God knows this is the only hell

To live here, without the breath of you

Against my chest. An eternity it feels, without you.

How Loss…

How loss

Strikes at the bones.

How loss

Breaks wide with a wetness, heart bleeding to lung

How loss

Scatters the mind & fuses to the spine

How loss

Comes tiptoeing up beside the bed each night

How loss

Echoes through the waves of blinding snow

How loss

Becomes everything except, a home

How loss

Eats away at the little veins that run up our necks

How loss

Rips them from us

How loss

Grates away the nerves & the sinews

How loss

Is a full grave, both in our chest & in the ground

How loss

It comes back around

How loss

Makes us weep. Makes us drown.