Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #47

in 20 minutes
–you came
head bowed to the ground, and a shaking hand
that reaches out to unlock a door
as I enter, completely uninhibited
lost in the pleasure
of endless possibilities
wondering eloquently about the words we will say

there are two sides of you
separate fragmentations that I can’t
fully simplify
there is the boy who loves to laugh
and screams in joyful recollections
who will raise his eyebrow and deliver
puns, punch lines, poetry and plot
discographies, book-ographies, collections and anthologies
and point to places that he has been in
played in
studied in
lost in the reverie in
the hollowed out pond and the missing stag
the thirty-nine steps that led this boy
to the musical group in which he spoke
in magical German: “Is anyone welcome?”
who contemplated about jumping
the ten feet to somebody else’s balcony
in his pyjamas and sweater
locked out of an apartment at 9:30 in the morning
–but the image of him screaming
in a language nobody can understand
stops him
as I scream in ferocious laughter
that moved me to abandonment
(bent forward, so hard it hurt)
–more, he gave more
kept going, unstoppable
until I had to slay the night with cynicism
this happy boy won’t last.

Because there is madness
waiting patiently around the corner
of this dark alley I live in
the boy disappears only to be replaced by
a turbulent, unstable man
who does not stop seizing
who grips the wheel until
his fingerprints are one with the leather
who stares daggers at my non-speaking throat
and lays blame on my pacificity
who wants to tear at my refusal
to participate in anger
who will shush me when I sing
of unspeakable subjects
who looks out of his window refusing eye contact
his whole body quivering
in pessimism
lost and alone in a world
that he cannot imagine
who stays at an airport to experience
fascism first hand
who won’t drop
cheese sandwiches, shrieking women, policemen in riot gear
he heard the door lock before he exuded vomit
resenting the love letter she once wrote
who lives and strives in the private
as he drowns the public in malice.

in 3 hours we drove
Hamilton, gas stations and Mississauga road
I sit there knowing
whatever happens, happens
I leave this in your hands
Disconnect from this cognizance
and let you guide me
into the void
into your secret divisions of narration
lies or not (it’s collapsible)
the beginning of experience
at least this night once existed
at least it once was here.


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