The Last Wolf of Womankind (Poem)

There was that stare in her eyes.
I used to know it very well.
And I had suspected.
It had gone instinct.
I had suspected
It had vanished.
Under occupation
After occupation
Riot squads
Overwork
And daily struggles
Like paying the rent
And food
And mistakes

There was that fire in her eyes.
From the days of riots.
Not so long ago.
(Six years at most.)

As the last time
The youth took
To the street.
Against infamy.
Idiocy
And common
Simple
Stupidity
Against
A world gone mad.
On hatred
Debt
And amphetamines

It all has gone silent now
The streets are quiet
But I remembered
When I looked at her
Of my own days
As an anarchist.

There was a fire in her eyes.
Only matched
By her beauty.
It’s true.
There have been many
Gorgeous women
Who walked the earth.
But rarely with that
Fire of hers.

It was not
A hateful
Rage
But a caring
Rage.
The rarest of
Rages.
The best of
Rage.
I’ve known it once.
For a good decade
I’d say
The purest of
Rage

Mine had grown
Deeper.
Deeper.
But silent.

I was ready

For the aftermath
She was still
Fighting it.
So,
I stared at my ceiling
And wondered if
I was a romantic
Or a coward
An idiot
Or a simple
(Ageing)
Realist

There was beauty in her
Beauty

It was true

Beauty I could not explain.
Let alone grasp.
I don’t know
If any men
Ever will.
I looked at her
And almost saw Spain
Barcelona

The red and black

Days of 36

I know I took my chips
Off the table
Simple as that
I folded

Without even a shot

She was most definitely a wolf
I was most definitely not.

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The Forgotten Ways of Love and Sex (poem)

It seemed to me ,
Dawned upon me
Really,
That is was as if
An entire generation
Had forgotten
How to fuck.

The smell of it
The taste of it
The sweat of it
How to make the body prance
And the legs shiver
Into glorious
Oblivion

It seemed to me
That an entire generation
Was lulled into
the boredom
Of porn
And fake fetishism

Fooled,
Tricked,
Conned,
(really)
That any of it
Had to do
With the physical
At all.

We have lowered
Ourselves
Stooped
And
Bowed
To cheap tricks
Meant for adrenaline junkies
Nothing more
And nothing less
(And no one else)

A jolt to the body
But a stab to the soul.
The sadness of it
Made me wander
For months

How did we forget.
That the power
That the fire
That the path
To love
And sex
Rested in her eyes.
And
That

Every shiver
Of the body
Every curve
And
Every time
The lips came to
Her breast
And thighs
Her hips
And
Heart
And lips

Was meant as a message
To the gods
That we are well
And alive
Here on earth

Bodies crave
And then bodies cave
As we breathe ourselves
Into each other’s skins
‘Till nothing exists
But her and I
Laying there
In the purest
Of silence
And nothingness

There is nothing
Like
Nothingness

The Pursuit (Poem)

I am sitting

Again

In a café

At the corner of my world

Sipping on the bitter drink

As I am listening

Again

To mogwai

While looking at the way

The wind pushes snow

Into the sheltered faces

Of people passing

By my window

 

I am thinking

Of the word

Of women

Of the world

I am thinking of passion

And projects

As I seem

To be out of a struggle

Right now

 

There’s a part of me

That started looking for a mess

Another one

A day or two ago

Something

To stick my feet in

And see if there’s something there

Something

Worth digging in for

Something

Worth writing for

Something

Worth living for

But most of all

(and yes, it’s true)

Something worth

Loving for

 

It’s out there

That is a certainty

There’s no shortage

Of anything

And everything

Going on in the world

And I am ready to find it

 

Just about now

Search and Destroy (Poem)

There is this kid
on the bus
Teenager
Long hair
Skateboard look
About himself
He looks at my hand tattoos
Just a glance
And I notice
He looks at my shoes
Wonders about
The band on my hoodie too

(Madball)

He’s got the vans
And the element board
(As those things
Have made a comeback)

Then I have this idea
In the back of my head

I want
To just hand him my headphones
And say
“Here.”
Iggy Pop
Search and Destroy

And change his life forever

The Veracity of the Heart (Poem)

The Veracity of the Heart (Poem)

I climb

The way

I write

The way

I paint

The way

I love

And fuck

And care

For the world

As it shows

Me who I am

But also

Who I can be

And why I should care

(Because I do)

I have been

Blessed and cursed

At times

By this fire in my heart

That won’t let me rest

Until I’ve lived fully

Taken risks

Owed my mistakes

And made amends

Only to try again

Differently

This time

Just enough

To make a

Difference

In myself

And in the world.

But it happens

Sometimes,

When the winds

Become harsh

And the snow starts

To fill the ground

Around me,

I fool myself

(Just like anybody else)

That I could live

Any differently

Than to live

Fully

Every single moment

Every emotion

Every waking moment

Of Every day

I hide at times,

As it is necessary

To lick my scars,

Pick at my scabs

And grumble

For a while

But the bruises heal

(Some, it’s true,

more easily

Than others)

And I always

Come back

For more

There never was

Any other way

Not for me,

At least

Than

To carry on

So that now

The scars

Of times past

That mar

My heart

And my skin

And my soul

Will show,

I hope

Not only

That I dared to lived

But most of all

That I dared to live

Free

A Seven Hour Road (Poetry)

There is a special kind of darkness
That only exists
In the great white north

And the empty road
You find yourself upon again
A constant reminder
That
You now had
Seven hours of it
(All of it)
Ahead of you
Before getting anywhere
And that getting dumped
In Saguenay
Was a very bad idea to start with

This was made worse
(Of course)
By the knowledge
That your
(Very limited)
Playlist

Of hearbreak songs
Would play
Over and over again
As the radio waves
Have no reach here.

You are desperate
For a drink
Or a cigarette
As the endless space
Ahead of you
Knows only a rare
Set of headlights
Coming in the opposite direction

To remind you
That you are not in limbo
Just yet
Or perhaps
(And even worse)
That
Limbo
may not be a place
Where you find yourself
All alone
After all.

Eight million
Square miles
Of pure
And empty space
In Northern Canada
And only one person
That matters
Right now

The road takes a curve
Up ahead
Where
The black spruce
That grow here
(And only here)
Know how to make it
So dark
And silent
It feels like hell

Another set
Of yellow lines
Dissapear
Quickly
Underneath you

Again.

And there are
Six hours more
Before civilisation

Switch songs
And press on the gas

You sigh and silently wish
For a deer
Or a moose
To be crossing the street
And smash itself

Into your dashboard

As you’d give
anyting
For anything
to happen
Right now.

Beautiful Losers At Night (Poem)

I am looking for love
In the silent aisles
Of a downtown bookstore at night
After the storm faded
And I have wept my past

I am looking for love
As I reconnect to the word again
In the endless pages

Of endless books
To find my way to poetry again
And that passion I had for
A good line
And the good fight
Of a novel
Or a play
Or a simple letter

To someone

I am looking for love
Again
In the silent ailes
And it’s closing time

I am looking for love
Through
The scent of paper
In the air
Of coffee

In the distance.
And the soft perfume
Of a tall brunette

Near where Cohen stands
In the art
And letters section