Camp

 
Why am I here? What did I do wrong? I don't know anyone here, don't leave me here!The heat of the sun is bearing down on me.
The
churning
of
your
engine
is
fading
as
you
leave
me
here
to
die.
I
can't
believe
this
is
the
place
I
will
die. Guards on duty watch us as we kick and scream. Their dark glasses obscure their eyes. Do they see
                                                                                                                                                         me?
                                                                                                                                                     Colors.
                                                                                                                                                    Intrinsic.
                                                                                                                                                    Definite.
                                                                                                                                                           My
                                                                                                                                                           life
                                                                                                                                                          here
                                                                                                                                                              is
                                                                                                                                                    indefinite.
Indefinite structures. I could watch them for hours - building castles out of sand.Laughing like princes...
Explosions
of
sound.
I
wipe
the
crusted
mud
from
my
pants.
My
body
aches.
My
muscles
yearn
for
food. 
When do we get fed? I didn't pack a lunch. I wonder where you are...do you enjoy our time apart?
                                                                                                                                                           They
                                                                                                                                                           come
                                                                                                                                                             and
                                                                                                                                                            take
                                                                                                                                                            them
                                                                                                                                                             one
                                                                                                                                                               by
                                                                                                                                                            one.
                                                                                                                                                                 I
                                                                                                                                                          watch
                                                                                                                                                            them
                                                                                                                                                           leave
                                                                                                                                                             me.
Frankie, Ellie, Joey, and Eddie. Christian, Harry, Annie. They're all gone.When is it my turn? How long will it take?
Or,
are
you
never
coming
back?
I
don't
know
which
would
be
worse.
I close my eyes as the light hits my face. I wonder if I can just melt away, just disappear into the sun.
                                                                                                                                                         Why
                                                                                                                                                          did
                                                                                                                                                          you
                                                                                                                                                        leave
                                                                                                                                                           me
                                                                                                                                                        here?

Diary Of ________.

 Dec. 17th, 2007

I can see it in your eyes…that’s what the always say right?  They say they can see pain or anger or sadness in your eyes. I didn’t understand this saying…just like I don’t understand most sayings but this one stuck with me because it became realized for me…I met a young mentally challenged girl today at the mall. She introduced herself as Amanda and that she was very pleased to meet me. I told her my name and we chatted about how crowded the mall was. Her mother then apologized to me and said that she can talk my ears off for hours and pulled her away. In a fleeting last look I saw what was true sadness in her eyes. I saw longing, torture. She was fully aware at that moment who she was, who I was, what everything was and all she wanted was to be normal and to have a normal conversation and it was taken from her, just like everything else.

False Accounts on a Tuesday Night

Oh, and tell me how
you are going to find
the treason in my eyes, again?

Stare as you will,
until our pupils dilate in the dark.
You will not see what you came here for --
--My blood.

No flicker or flash of a lie here.
No hidden meaning in my prose.
Only me.

So stare, shoot darting looks from the love-seat.
Sit on your throne.

Stab at me with tear soaked eyes
and running mascara.

Turn your skin bright red,
burst your blood vessels.

Use all of your tricks,
for I have one of my own;
I don't care.

A World Reversed

The tree limbs creak with the wind as the rain pours upon the grass,
who's blades cut through the dirt to point straight up like soldiers.
The tulips in the garden, yellow and purple, strangled by weeds overgrown.

I can feel them.
Their jealous veins pulsating under the soil.
They lash out at one another for space and nutrients.
Each hoping for a better grip to the ground,
afraid that one day they will fall into the sky.

Rough

dirt covered hands
black as tar
digging under rock

the stiff drink
the dry cough
a hot water bottle
cigarettes

a bird sounds
five a.m.
sunlight cuts through
broken window blinds

begin again
through pain
end again

____________

You came home carrying a stack of papers, each one blank.

We took an hour and spread them out all over the house; behind cupboards, in shelves, clung to doorknobs, and on the sills of windows.
We put them on the furniture, in the shower, on the coffeepot, and on our favorite books.
I stuck one on the dog, you put one on the bed.
At last, we put one on each other.
Then we set out to write on each piece of paper the word that best describes that spot.

On the windowsill I wrote "sunrise", you wrote "sunset."

On the bookshelf I wrote "knowledge", you wrote "entertainment."

The shower was "clean" for me, and "dirty" for you.

The coffeepot was "energy" for me, "addiction" for you.

On the dog you wrote "mine", I wrote "yours."

On the bed you wrote "mine", I wrote "yours."

On you I wrote "goodbye."
You left mine blank.

As the door closed behind me I wrote "home" on it right underneath your writing - "house."

August

Crouched down beneath
A hummingbird's fluttering wings
Sizzle in heat
A sun torn apart

Its shards are falling down upon us
Cutting clouds in two
Making monsters in shadow
Our parents wouldn't recognize us

Mom, you wouldn't recognize me

Skin covered in a wet film 
Droplets moving from brow to chin
All the oxygen gone
Even blood sweats

We laid on the grass
Conforming to our shapes
When the sun lights us ablaze
You won't recognize me anymore

Dad, you won't recognize me

A Lonely Night in Halifax

The wet sidewalk met my sneakers with a smack,
as the air brushed my skin in a lazy,
drifting sort of fashion;
as if it too were giving up on the day due to rain.

I took my time strolling down Dobbs Street,
questioning whether there is life outside of Halifax.

It sometimes feels as though you are the last man on earth
when the overcast darkens and the city goes silent.
I pondered what I would do if this feeling were fact
as I passed the Montfort building on King Street toward the cemetary.

Tonight would be ideal for a ghost to appear,
or perhaps I am a ghost.

Garden

There was a man who cared for nothing but his garden
A man who never married and was never truly loved
That is not to say he wasn't ever in love himself
These feelings were never mutual
And over time feelings dissolve into nothing
The man's garden was his sanctuary
A massive stretch of his land was devoted to it
Bordering on obcenity
He spent days planting and watering
He would scout the temperatures and buy flowers for each season
The winter was his least favorite time of the year
He would pick his favorite flower and bring it inside
Plot it at the window so it could see sunlight and he could see it
In the spring he would overhaul the garden and start fresh
At night, and on occasion, he could be seen whispering to his plants in the darkness
Urging them to grow; Urging them to whisper back
His garden sustained him in every way
From it he would grow strawberries, pumpkins, carrots
He even, to his own suprise, had the bigginings of an apple tree
But the tiny tree that was growing had massive roots
They strangled his other plants and flowers when he was not around
During a particularly busy week at work he came back to his garden
Only to find a thriving tree and several dead plants
In a rage he uprooted the leviathan and threw it in the woods
He never again let something destroy his garden
No one was allowed there either; it was his
And as he grew older, creakier,  he realized that the garden would die without his touch
He tried, in pain, to maintain it
But it was unbearable suffering and the work load immense
And when the men came to move his things
Before leaving for his new home
He refused to make eye contact with the garden
Now he sits, or paces by the windows in slippers
Sometimes muttering, sometimes in a stiff ponder
The only thing that ever loved him was gone
But every now and then
When the light would hit the trees across the street just right
And he could hear the whisper in the breeze through the open window
He would crack a solemn smile
Close his eyes
And remember a time when there was a garden.

Echo

A hollow cough.
A shiver under cotton sheets.
A whisper through the telephone.
A shudder down the spine.

Mason jars, traced with dust,
stand on shelves by windows
painted shut.

Mirrors cracked or chipped with imperfection.

Canopied lights on the patio.
A swinging chair.
A cup of coffee.
Magazines, yellowed and dog-eared,
scattered by the bathroom door.

The rythym of chirp and chatter.
The clunking of engines.
The chime of church bells.

A tune from the wooden floor.
A melody from brass, drums, winds.
An orchestra of untouched strings.

Stranded

and there the water
blue and green
white with foam
spreads over land.

crushing it.
erasing it.

the lapping waves etch along the line
and at the center
me.

Wolf

The terrible cold chills
--my love for the outside
diminishes...

but only for a short time.
My insides -
intestines
heart
bile
yearn to be barefoot.
Resisting what is believed
to be.

My teeth chatter but wish to
feel the first kill of the day--
The scent of another calls me away
calls me toward a different place.
A place built with appliances
 and man-made hazard.

The snow on my skin burns
but the concrete I'm standing on burns hotter.