I feel the world And it’s letting me in Like rainstorms form rivers Melting spring snow Sun bleaches bone Wild fire ashes and opening pinecone Sleep evades It’s both too early and too late I feel the world wake Hip shake Earth quake I feel the world wake Tremors inside my inner thigh My inner thought My inner light It stirs that sound That sound The one you never heard But always knew Coursing through The world Uncoiling its snake self Slow slither and hiss Come hither it said Come into yourself I feel the world And it’s letting me in-hale Hatching seed, chick, and silk worm I feel the world Exhale Mist and moonshine Melon rind and vine ripened grape Both too early and too late I feel the world It wants to dance Seamless Between body and sound We are solid but move fluid Liquefaction Contraction The waters break I am born Again Still Dancing Too early And too late I hear the world The original sound From when the world unwound Found itself in its own sequence of sun circles Orbit moon and gas giants Singing All singing Come into yourself So I return to the blood rhythm Pulse Iron and oxygen I come into myself Deep, deep Into myself And I feel the world Wake

I’m the shaking figure of outrage Prompted by my own anxiety. I’m the lack of credible news that forced a dependency on comedians, And got upset when they told jokes. I’m the like and the dislike wrapped into a single click; The sound and its historical influence borders inaudible. I’m the tongue-in-cheek commentary on millennial vanity And the gaze that never breaks from my face On a video call. I’m the social reject, Turned hip, That now rejects social rejects, God if I could only be one again. I’m a Tabula Rasa by Jackson Pollock. An overly accessible addition to poetics. I’m a writer that god forbid appeals to the casual reader. I’m Cerberus crossed with a Golden Retriever. I’m the expensive suit that becomes my skin. If only the liner could be made with old friends, They’d have a chance of being seen with me on the town With my new troupe when the wind catches a seam in the Kashmir. I’m the question at every dinner party, The interested, the classic “What do you do?” Fantastic. I’m a series of muffled sentences from your mouth Until I can tell you what I do. I’m the ecstatic truth The glazing of the facts The walking resume. I’m the pyramid scheme, The Snake Oil salesman of confidence And I’m the Freshman boy Belching it back into the gymnasium sink I’m the pill at the party The shame the next day I’m the night off, wishing I was out. I’m a solo cup of water A sheep in the wolf’s letterman. I’m another opportunity Returned to sender again. I’m the perfect first take And the — Fuck I’m the perfect first take And the real product that shows natural human error. I’m the retail job And a career in my field I’m the nagging voice telling you to buy local, To support the poor over dinner. And I’m the luke-warm leftovers that Passes by the needy, The beating hearts on the street. I’m the vibrant voice in the room networking, And the eyes that avoid yours in public the Following day. I’m small talk with peers years later, Too nervous to admit we have nothing to say. We whip out each other’s pricks and piss Contesting who’s syphoned more gas In a Mad Max industry. I’m the congrats on the achievement And the unshakable envy in the same breath. I’m a grid of pictures of myself And social media inactivity, gloated So you never forget that I consider myself above it. I’m in the middle of it all But stealing from both sides. I’m the ride and the carney. I don’t know it works, I just start and stop it With a flick of the switch. I’m the salty Spoken Word Poet The petulant Caucasian. I’m a breath of fresh air through a Canadian Classic.

How little did you know as a child, when you blew away seeds of dandelion security of a locked psychiatric ward against black-and-white flower growing out of asphalt sit close, Daughter, diminish the distance How did you become homeless? Barren and beautiful on a rainy Saturday don’t just look at it look through it underclass: who possess nothing that matters the street marginality away from your house aimless wandering and familiar faces dandelion “Isn’t that a weed?” You will see, not just those who now crowd the asylums.

Keep me company When I want to be alone Just you beside me Olive Coloured Tan Amazingly Wonderful Smiles and Carefree Joyful Raspiness Resonates throughout the room Love as company Late night chats with you Always make my day better Blissful and lovely Telling a story Brighter than any movie Dreaming is vivid Glimpse of your smile Hoping you notice me Noticing you shine Texting Good morning I'm grateful for your Glasses. Smirking framed windows. Gets me every time. Pooched Eyes, joint smoking. Quiet Puff Puff Pass. Calm and collected. Pass it to the left hand side. My eyes get slanted. Long arm of the smoke. From a lit tip of this joint. Happiness only.

Chilly Chilly Snowflakes falling willy nilly Boots, coats, mittens Bundled up I’m looking silly People look at me, like “really”? Don’t need approval, clearly Like a herald angel, hark, hear me Fear me Destruction coming nearly Destruction coming nearly Destruction coming nearly Destruction coming nearly Destruction coming nearly (verse X 4) Chilly Chilly Snowflakes falling willy nilly Boots, coats, mittens Bundled up I’m looking silly People look at me, like “really”? Don’t need approval, clearly Like a herald angel, hark, hear me Fear me Destruction coming nearly Over and over and over these boots trek Wearily I’m tired Frostbitten, just got fired Smoke a fatty now I’m wired You’re hired. Eyes glassy, presentation skills classy I’m salty like my lassi I’ll school ya Don’t put it past me Teach you how to act less trashy, Ashley

hello hollow sunrise those empty eyes that wake me up in the morning – my own, in the mirror staring back at me; this island earth yawning open with stinking gums, eyes sunk like ships for sleep that never comes; the wreck of the Titanic, ruins of Atlantis stuck in the small of my back; my hips, my endless pits thick with black where good pirates go to die and life dives down to grow hideous teeth eyes of frosted glass headlamps to find their ways with bioluminescence. good morning, good morning you will seize upon this day like Napoleon of mountain and crag, of meadow and slag-heap; you will weep for the meek kissing angelic rulers’ feet, for they are far greater than the greatest of us; picking callouses flaked off in your teeth like holier sacraments and all of their chips. hello hollow sunrise fashion your hideous teeth and feed on coral rock straight from the reef – hello perfect darkness and perfect disguises, those moonlight eyes and depth of soul where sun don’t reach. oh wise of salt and sand and sweat that splits open hands, oh empty crabshells blood red and rash of barnacled rock, oh rotten teeth where the ocean erodes and where i have forgotten to floss for the past twenty-seven years. good morning hip pain back pain carpet stain memory drain mirror that so thoughtfully decapitates my reflection amid the stunning view of my growing midsection. hello November election Syrian war pax Americana puking in an alley behind a Moscow factory – hello ISIS hello overdose crisis hello homelessness tent cities and housing up thirty-percent on the commodity markets – hello false land claims and colonial exploitation hello Mother England and the Queen who protects our association, Buckingham Palace corgi-keep heated by the exploited fucking classes, hello alt-right fanboy fascists and left left far behind – hello these hands in my face splashing water; i will wash these hands. i will brush my teeth. (and floss.) i will pick up my feet and strengthen my hips (without begrudging them their width, they are only where my lover holds me). hello big hard cock when i awoke but when i am awake i am tired soft when i am awake, head heavy say hello to every spizz-pop crackling static bubble bursting into my inner inner ear – i can hear all of the names in histor i can hear banging away the philosopher’s hammer, oh Nietzsche! my mind slipped a disc and the track skipped i am twisted mental fitness Narcissus of gymnasium adorned in mirrors landscape of depleted middle-income suburbia performance of the power lifter powering through a hernia, toxic masculinity, i am divinity as true as ritual and words in a book. i wear words in my look, hello old tattoo that i don’t like and new tattoo i do – hello stories i am telling myself as i look at myself in the mirror this morning: hello hollow sunrise, the sunshine is out, it is pouring

They don’t want you to talk about it How it starts off with platitudes of romance, pedestals, and adoration and, once trust is earned, follow, control, jealousy, subtle manipulation, systematic isolation, microscopic concentration. They don’t want you to talk about it. How you got so swept up in the romance, the music, the passion, the project, convinced by them that you were their savior, and it is through you and you alone that they may reach exultation. They don’t want you to talk about it. How at some point that ability to save turned into an all-consuming responsibility, but by then the burden was so familiar that you had grown comfortable in the discomfort, and reaching for something different or better seemed like something that only other people deserved. They don’t want you to talk about it. How the loneliness seeps into your bones like a teabag that’s been left steeping three days too long. They don’t want you to talk about it. How they know everyone in the outside world looks in and sees this dreamy, idyllic life that is so far from the truth that you dare not speak a word. They don’t want you to talk about it. How everything feels like your fault, how you’re always saying sorry, how the feeling of eggshells on the soles of your feet is familiar as the rising sun. They don’t want you to talk about it. How your friends still keep in touch, but mostly just look at you with sad eyes and long sighs and lamentations and recitations of memories of better times. They don’t want you to talk about it How sex is used as a tool to glean vulnerability and connection that would otherwise not be given. They don’t want you to talk about it. How your money disappears faster than you can make it and there’s always an extraordinary explanation as to why those dollars where so desperately needed. They don’t want you to talk about it. How they’ll buy drugs before eggs, milk, and cheese. They don’t want you to talk about it. How they’ll beat you and then take you for dinner, but not before asking you to wear long sleeves to hide your bruised skin. They don’t want you to talk about it. How you wait ‘til they leave to allow the heaves, the sobs and sadness take over and, just for a moment, oblivion surrounds you, and you forget just how far from yourself you’ve become. They don’t want you to talk about it. How you can fit into jeans from when you were sixteen and the bones in your hips jut out in a way that no one whose hips have born a child should jut. They don’t want you to talk about it. How you have the capacity to rise up, to heal, to transcend, to totally annihilate the false self that they have been convincing you it you for far too long. They don’t want you to talk about it. How you and everyone else in this world is individually responsible for creating and maintaining your own happiness and wellbeing. They don’t want you to talk about it. How deep down you know belonging in a real is always more important than looking good. They don’t want you to talk about it. How with courage, honesty, connection, and heart, freedom may be sought, and that no matter what, life is never easy, but it can be joyful. They don’t want you to talk about it. And they certainly don’t want me to talk to you about it, and yet, here we are.

“Write something coherent and down to earth” I told myself, but noticed several bears Bearing down rather incoherently So I performed a quick double-take and Clambered across marshmallow rockfaces Chunks of the sweet obstacle came away Nestling beneath my desperate fingernails As the beasts grew near with spittle and claw My furthest back arm was casually mauled: Scarlet splatter upon porcelain treat I treated the wound without breaking stride A handful of marshmallow, applied hard On the gash and I ran steadfast up To the edge of this particular cliff so Soft and white, save for the blood, I jumped And realized the rock was soft so then rolled Down the marshmallow bluffs, still bleeding but Safe, for now, since bears are stupid and scared And don’t really understand the concept Of cliffs made out of marshmallows I trudged on, upon the jagged expanse Of gelatin that stretched beneath regal Violet horizons. The sun struck my back And beads of sweat whispered as they slid down To the tensile surface of my journey The sun was at its crux now, the pulsating orb Of energy burrowing its radiations under my skin and Into my ears. I heard something sizzle and noticed The marshmallow surface upon which I plodded Was darkening to a delicious looking golden-brown While normally I’d rejoice at an evenly browned Marshmallow, my arm’s deep wound was throbbing And my hastening strides began to cause cracks in the Crisp surface, my boots sticking to the ground at each Step and needing to be laboriously peeled away I stumbled on, upon the jagged expanse Of gelatin that stretched beneath regal Violet horizons. The sun struck my back And beads of sweat whispered as they slid down To the flexible surface of my journey I appeared to be in the clear, which proved To be a problem as a hollow screech From up above left me frozen in my Confection-laden footwear, my pasty Boots from which I wrenched my feet in swift fear Regaining my wits, and throwing myself Forwards, arms outstretched flailing, pushing off The ground as this bird of prey swooped downwards And my now-bare foot collided head-on With a chocolate chunk of sorts, not a chip It chipped my talus, a bone in the foot Stopping me in my tracks, and tracking More blood, now from my swollen and bare feet Mingling with the gore from my still-mauled arm And talons once again bore down from above A spray of feather pierced my sightline as The bears made short work of that flying beast Having tracked my scent, they careened at me With feral intensity I stopped and Bit my into my lip until it bled then Turned around, stumbling, favoring my Functional foot, my arm no longer stinging Unable to feel a thing, facing death I knew it couldn’t end like this, not in A field of marshmallow, fatally mauled by These two fools of nature, this sheer brawn I’d try to shout but choked on my shortness Of breath and let out a wide, hollow, Harrowing cough, better described as a Bark, a bellow – the bears stopped in their tracks Having been frightened by the booming sound And I tore at the ground in a rage, An adrenaline-fueled frenzy of pure Confusion I shook and wept, my body Trembling, volatile upon the soft surface