Dear Patti

I have tried

With all my might

(which added up to some mess of technology

and an arsenal of friends)

for two tickets to your show.

And when I came up empty-handed,

I devised this plan to write to you.

But when I sank into the world I needed to be in

To face such a daunting task,

I ended up thinking more about the ways
I’m turning into my mother,

And how best to peel a shallot.

So…

The truth is,

I need the inspiration.

I want to pick up all the things

That have fallen out of my pocket

Along the course of a path

That has left me forgetting

How to dance barefoot.

And I wonder if there’s even a small chance

You would help this lost dancer out?

With love, admiration,

And gratitude,

Katherine

RE:

i really feel it's best

that i use someone else's words

in response to your proposition,

you see…

it's just that on this very subject,

quite perfectly

they're versed in my guts.

And admittedly,

I'm a bit of an admirer...

But i already know

you're just the sort of guy

to colour me shades of plagiarism

instead of listening to something

dedicated to you.

so now...

well,

the words may be a little off

but they still hold the answer.

And for once,

(in a heroic display of self preservation)

i think I'll skip this track.

But thanks anyway,

Mr. Night.

private conversation

you know,

the thing about you is...
not the shape you take
when you walk away

(although,
the weight of your pants
around your hips looks quite nice)

and it's not that, at times,
your face is one that i'd like to press
mine up against

it's really just that
i seem to like it best
when you're around me.

so much so that
i think about you
when you're not around.

and sometimes
i catch myself
wishing that you were

so that i could say things like
"did you see that guy enter
from the edge of the screen?!"

and you would tell me
that really,
he was there all along.

in the guts

i think that's the day i knew.

it was a sunday afternoon.
you were gone,
and i suddenly
had the urge
to create some nostalgia.
i took snapshots
to commemorate being in your space,
assuming your comforts
for mine.
then later,
i felt that overwhelming sadness
as i walked away from your building,
your home,
and fought bravely
against the intruders
welling up in my eyes.

maybe you weren't certain, but,
that's the day,
in the core of myself,
i think i knew.

The Excavator

Instead of clinging onto your arm,
I write this.
because i am not the same
as before.
No,
i have gone through
some motions,
done some digging
and sifting.
The Excavator's door is locked.
Instead of a cup of tea,
i offer you nothing.
"I'm tired, mister…
please
go away."
Instead of wanting more,
I write this.

Code What?

It's when the sun goes down
that, in the stillness of my surroundings,
i feel the muscle start to tear.

the big, thumping thing
pulled somewhere above me,
hovering, like an ungrateful lover.

some sort of death

don't worry
if you can't find me.
i'm not gone from you -
i'm just
gone.
and lover,
i will see you again.

sunday

it's true
that i know god
only in profanity.
and i know heaven
only in ecstasy.
but still,
sunday is my day of rest.

the sum

hey now man,
you're the equal sign
in my equation.
the catalyst of
a sum
of all parts
that totals some big
explosion
of electricity
boom!
i'm yours.

stillness

i sit here
sometimes
in stillness -
in quiet, and darkness.

in the weight of solitude

and i wonder
or maybe
it's worry -
about what i'm going to do

when these moments escape me.

working girl

sometimes
you have to work at the things you love
like i had to work
at loving you.
i don't anymore
work at it, that is.
but
once in awhile
that dense feeling
weighs itself on my chest.
and quite frankly
i'm not sure
what i have to do
to make it go away.
i've already felt the anger
i've already felt the hurt.
and you're already a stranger.
excuse me, sir,
but you're stepping on my chest.

thanks but you are not him

you call yourself
mister big
and that just seems unfair

'cause i've seen the end
i've seen it all--
the whole torrid affair.

and now it's like
a waiting room
only i don't give a care

about all the things
that're inbetween
all the extra layers.

i've pockets full
of expectation
but nothing's really there.

two realities
just collided,
completely unaware

and left me
naked, with this love
that you could never dare.

the not-so-final countdown

Happy New Year,
Prince.

this year,
new leather upholstry
and a hand between my thighs
ain't gonna cut it.

this year,
i know better.

this year,
i know you.

reflection

I'm sick of staring in the mirror
and watching question marks
fall out of my eyes
like menstrual blood.

this is not religion
this is not nature

It's a quest and a longing
for a faceless soul; a terror without morning.
And for some ridiculous reason
he is my lost dawn.

this is not agreeance
this is recognition.

Sucker

With a turn of his head,
"I'm like a ghost", he said.
An' I said
"baby, you're real to me."

then leeches grew from his fingertips
while I forgot everything
there is to know about salt.

I've got muscle and tissue
working against me
but this oxygen ain't enough
to keep me alive.

For the Music Man

He's a good, good man -

a voice of buddist coating,
a leechy hand for pain.

I'm looking up at the sky,
but I'm down on my knees.

Yeah he's a good, good man.

Untitled

Underneath the lamp post,
in the pathway lined
with romantic persuasion
is exactly where
you did not kiss me.

And I drew ends from the moon
and the haze of heart-shaped illogic.

I begged the dusk
and the arborous audience
for just one still moment
and that's precisely when
you did not stop.

Eels

Lick your limbs.
Taste the salt;
The sweat
That hardens my heart.
This flesh
Like eels
In desperation.
It slips,
And it slides,
And it feels so right.
But after the final moan,
Breathless,
And dizzy,
I wonder if you miss me
When you're not
In my thighs.

sabotage

i've got these sidelines
in my mind.
they must be yours
'cause they ain't mine.

bound in a sabotage
the splinters dig deep.
the ground is rising
it ain't gonna keep.

i'm hitting it hard,
and falling apart.
serial death:
from this dinosaur heart.

hold tight; hold fast

She loves you in fever
She loves you in fairness

She's getting close
And you're losing your grip

Hold tight and grow
Hold fast and bite

I can already taste the blood
there: in your true colours

You're feelin' good in the flesh
You're feelin' good in the face

You're getting too close
and I'm losing my grip

Hold tight and tail-out
Hold fast and forget

Hey Now, Gorilla!

I'm wrestling her down
outside of the ring
and when i'm
heavyweight champ,
I hope you don't
go ripping through
my chest
like some sort of
pissed off gorilla.

la francaise

i feel so french
in this giant sized bow
thinking thoughts like

"mon cherie!"

gazing at tin dogs

feigning to be
something more
than a feeble-minded lover

and twirling down sidewalks
where you don't exist.

invertebrate gray

as the stars fall out of my eyes
like rain,
i turn to you
and you look away:

"things haven't changed, honey
you just got 'em wrong"

an' i see your nochelance suit
shaded invertebrate gray.

...more
than just a terror
to the eyes.

the war of escapism

i can see them.
dying.
some,
afraid to be alone
others,
afraid not to be.
but i'm fighting so hard.
to not think about
how your first initial looks
in ink
against some desolately white page.
this displacement
is failing.
hearts
are still crashing through
and the coursing of blood
leaves me
like a marathon runner
with noir in my eyes.

fronts

i want you
to look at me
in the eye
when you fuck me...
cause i'm bigger than the past
and somehow
i've convinced myself
that the truth is sandwiched between fronts
it's the only way...
-tight air-
akin to sincerity
and truthfully,
it's screwing up my libido:
that's one more strike
against society
but also the human race.

evening walk

i lost my footing
because the trees
and the lights
and the buzz-buzzing city...

well, it was all
too much to bare.

i stumbled along,
contentedly
in the glow
and the hum-huming nitty-gritty...

begging c'mon baby,
just take your share

i thought of you
strollin next to me
by lamposts
in our own sizz-sizzling community...

all those steps ahead of me
seemed more than i could dare.

a god called isack

your idols are assholes
and i'm as crazy as patsy
for converting to the wicked games
of this age old religion.
and if i had a giant eraser,
i'd rub out your scratches
from all over this page
'cause i heard the funeral bells
way back in july.
since then,
it's been one hell
of a procession.
hey priest,
this is your own eulogy;
you've gone down
for the very last time.
i've peeled off the buds
so there's nothing more to taste.

a note to the prizewinner

i don't even have dresses
shaded so darkly
as this disappointment...
but i'm pretty sure
blondie wasn't singing about you.
so take this breathless heart
and redeem yourself;
walk away
a champion
and get the fuck out.

squeal like a pig

his eyes are like home.
his tongue, stark discipline.
and i'm lost on command,
thirsty for blood
and ownership
like a tattered religion.

with squealing organs;
pigs.tires.wind.
and sacrifices
tearing up these wrists,
all i've got is this ache
for a brand new womb.

a haiku

The wordy affair:
a sort of romance that leads
to old wounds and booze.

becoming

You keep milking me
And all you're gettin' is blood
It's vicious; it's fevered
It's all that I am.

But honey, this ain't real
Without bricks and mortar,
So lay me down and stick it to me
'Cause I believe in more than this

It's easier to love you
When you don't exist.

sick to death

when i force myself
to think about such things as
split-bellied unicorns
and the stink
of burning rubber,
like a sucker,
i always end up
with some shit about love
and a vomiting heart.

les rêves

it's the 1960s,
i'm sitting at a small cafe table,
on a cobblestone street in France.
it's sunny and my
legs are crossed,
sunglasses on,
hiding my invitation to you.

boardroom beast

the Animal

crosses her legs tightly
and pretends
to exude humanism

without basic instinct.

world war weather

Colonel Winter
sends out his troops:
thousands upon thousands
of angry snowflakes
bitch-slapping their victims
like tiny, wet hands -
the stinging imprint of weather
reddened on the cheeks of the unarmed.

fingers like detectors, lips like old photographs

you might lose your guts
when i tell you
that you were the last.
the last hungry taste
the last sweaty embrace
the last mess of limbs and moans.
And it's not because you were there -
it's because you've always been there.

it's because of you

swimming in this retrospection, i'm thinking about you.
about who you are, and who you've been.
about who you've made me become.
each of you, a different piece of the puzzle that is still puzzling me.

her for spirit
him for fearlessness
her for sexuality
him for hunger
her for brains
him for wisdom
her for comfort
him for desire

touched by all the ways you've touched me, i want that connection.
that reconnection.
i want to stop forgetting how you make me feel.
You, so much more than me.
this is not jealousy, but inspiration.
and if this is a love song, it's because of you.

torture

It's not that I'm not inspired.

I am. It's there.

- a greedy handful of ideas inside me, just itching to be tossed out into the open air.

but for some reason, those ideas just simmer in the background. Deep inside. They are only mine to ponder, sitting like a big, fat, ball of weight at the back of my skull - stretching down and across my guts to the corners of my corner-less heart, like a viscous, spidery sheathing.

It's like torture:

When you have the words
But not the pen
When you have the thoughts
But not the mouth
When you have the drive
But not the destination
When you have the passion
But not the release

So the screen stays blank. The paper stays inkless. And I remain trapped inside this ridiculous façade while I pray like hell for someone to unzip me.

Someday, I'll matter more.

cockroaches

ruminating
is probably something cockroaches do.
it's not for the likes of me.
i go deeper inside
so deep
you can feel city windows
explode like lightbulbs in the silence.
cockroaches,
you see,
don't hang in the air like that.
they've got ground.

history persists

i sit here in the tub
cleansing myself
in the hopes that it might be for you.
Nothing has changed
since peggy groaned about fever
and charles grumbled about desire.
i want to be hungry for each other:
and that takes a lot of guts.

the wedding

if i ever get married
it'll be in an old, greying castle
and our first dance
will be a waltz
to leonard's hungry growl
the audience will gasp
and weep
for all the moments of formidable love
two butterflies
caught
in a giant, breathy net.

at the final countdown...

it might be nice
if, this year,
when the clock strikes midnight
there is someone there to kiss me.
but right now
i'd settle
for new leather upholstry
and your a hand
between my thighs.

amen

contemplating
the shapes of your absences
while this vodka seeps into me
i'm unaffected
raw
maybe i'm supposed to be that monk
lost in himself
somewhere out THERE.
the only thing is,
i have female parts that get in the way.
so thanks, god:
for this vodka
and this pussy
and this lonliness.

london calling

it's grey outside
and the sound of The Clash
is rattling around in my head like a secret.
the raindrops kinda tug at my fingers
begging me to come along
into the misery,
deeper into that giant puddle.
but i'm fighting.
as the English keep wailing,
i keep walking
knowing there's a chance
my feet won't get tired.

bukowski

I guess I have Bukowski to thank
for loving you.
as I try to fill these spaces in my heart
by spewing adjectives.
Language
like polly-fill:
expansive and permanent.

dehydration

this water feels soft
like fucking velvet
ribbons, seamlessly gliding down my throat
as i sit here
eating cheese
and thinking about love...

and leaving:

leaving out of love
and the love of leaving.

lonliness

...she looked up from his arms
which were more like tethers of vanity and shame.
"Am I pretty?", she begged?
"You're beautiful", he replied,
"but you ain't pretty".

Jack

I wanted you tonight.
even with that twitch.
destroyed?
deranged?
i dunno.
but i felt the desire...
until i noticed a drop of your drink
trickling down my arm as you brushed by me
on your way to HER.
that girl who is not me.
will never be me.
and so, you are all ghosts.
fleeting sensations,
forever lost.
but i have this Jack...
and a good job,
so i guess this must be happiness -
at least for me.
but i'm fucking miserable...
and i have this Jack...

ShutHer

I feel
like a Moment:
A perfect snapshot
of dead air
and contemplative silence.
Hung together
meekly
in a tragic tableau.
The honest
and brilliant capture
of a lonely heart.

h-o-m-e.

It's hard to go home
when you're not too sure
if that word is more
than just four letters.

Four letters
that don't add up to much
in a game of Scrabble.
So I guess that means
I've lost again.

flight 664, Calgary to Toronto

Cities illuminated:
Like squished spiders
-electric...but dead.
Surrounding rivers reaching-
spread outlike laugh lines
on one hell of a huge face.
Old...and romantic-
the storytellers of lives.
And baby,
I'm just so high
that I never want to come down.
'Cause if heaven exists
I think I might be closeby.

flight 0075, Nassau to Toronto

...the city appears
like a massive, unamed pyramid
plucked right out of Egypt
in a spectacular displacement.
Or maybe it's like
a patient mound of gold
melting in its livliness
and creeping quietly into the lake.
But upon closer inspection,
it's quite obvious
that it's not but a giant, glowing motherboard
~computer guts~
each piece with a purpose
and all coming together
to make this Big Thing tick.

another bus ride

Through the space between the seats
I play voyeur with the woman infront of me.
Her existence,
in general,
makes me furious.
-distracted-
as the sun flutters through the trees
like the listless arm of a child
as it grazes across the railing in a shopping mall
or a train station.
And that woman infront of me
is rustling and gorging on bags and bags of nuts.
She shoves them into her sexless mouth,
as her hair sits like a limp mushroom on top of her head.
I hate her just a little bit more.
The sun is now fading into the sky
like a thin, golden coin
slipping into a giant pocket.
And that awful woman
is still eating those damn nuts.

bone machine dream

if there was such a thing
as a bone machine,
i'd gladly snuggle up with it-
every night-
for a couple pounds of shavings.

Untitled

Bubbles...
like radio-bath static
or tiny little audiences
clapping.
And me,
like a giant foetus
aware of no return,
and very exposed.

quietly compounded

Morning.
a soft reminder,
like a dissolving fingerprint,
of yesterday's desire for MORE.
The faded impressions
of the lives i may have lived
meekly tug
at the frayed hem of memory,
whining for discovery
of how they might
fit into the one i live now.
Layers like novels,
dusty from neglect and
stacked carelessly in a quiet corner
almost forgotten.

The Paint-y Guy

Today I saw a paint-y guy.
He was all covered in paint
and it broke my heart.
So I walked away from him.
The sun shone in my eyes and I thought about how the paint-y guy I had never met
had broken my heart--just like that.
Then I realized that my heart was probably broken before.
I had just been in denial.

temptation

This dream won't escape me,
so why don't you take me,
and just get this over with.

So take off my clothes
and we'll try to expose
that fucking is more than just sex.

Let yourself feel
that this could be real
even if it's just 'til you cum.

"Somehow, everything comes with an expiry date." (Chungking Express)

A night that makes me static-
Motionless beside you
Because movement causes change
And stillness is like a memory
Etched in the present.

It's all I can do
To preserve a moment
When everything may be upside down,
Yet nothing seems it.

My Heart Beats In All the Wrong Places

This is an unfinished work. I can't finish it-I don't know how it ends. What's a girl to do?

Layer after layer, I tear this all apart...only to find you at the bottom of it. And you're so damn beautiful that it hurts me to know you. My heart shifts-I feel it move inside my chest. I hear the soft din that screams "this is not right", and I want to run-hard and fast. I want to untie all the knots and break down this foundation that keeps me so safe.

An' that's all I've got. boo. I hate unfinished biz-niz. werd.

La Naturaleza de los Humanos/The Nature of Humans

Las corazones
como el agua

La piel
como la piedra mojada

Los cuerpos
como la tierra
___________

Hearts
like water

Skin
like wet stone

Bodies
like the earth.

"Laziness grows on people; it begins in cobwebs and ends in iron chains." (Thomas Buxton)

From tired eyes
A girl so fragile
Beholds all that is not hers.

She hides in repetition-
Hides in safety.
Is it love?
Or her heart slowly breaking…

She claims her dreams,
But fears to live them.

There’s no danger in mediocrity.

She learns to mask it gracefully.
Devestation with a strong drink.

"She demanded illusions like other women demanded jewels." (Henry Miller)

It was a grandiose dream.
So big, in fact,
that I kept it as small as possible-

Packed it into a concentrated reverie,
without realizing
that nothing could ever change.

And now I have this shadow-dream
that follows me everywhere
but never sees light.

And I am fully aware of it's presence
and obscenely aware
that you are not here.

fool me twice, shame on me.

I never wanted
to fall to pieces over anyone.
But you have me on the ground
beneath myself.

untitled

You came
Like a violent storm
Intensely.
And left me
With water running down my face
Down my legs.
A pool of myself
At my feet.