(MEDIA)te

knock down the airwaves & start screaming w/
           your ripened voice under lost bridges,
           forgotten & faded w/ their signatures
on concrete always the same & down the road,
                   always the same..
I've seen the cost of the loss of the crossing
      of benign highways eleven ways to freedom
                     where that freedom is a never ending

series of intermittent yellow lines..
you've begged for peace in such an anti-calm world:
           but the war machine won't listen..

please break out of this glass jar, it's not reality -
it's only reality because they tell you it's real..

Departure

my memory is a stretched piece of
                  spontaneous comb bust in: because
                  real eyes realize that acid
rainbows are falling & blending bullets to
               spinning skin, are finding that one key
               left to lose, are finding that one door
               left to open..

"meet me in outer space.."

where a million is a thousand is a moment in a day..

("..& I need you to see this place..")

Jaded

city lights & I'm
coming home, this
"who you know, now what you know" echoing
                                                 needs escaping..

in alleys/on rooftops, visions
             of reality: what real
                 reality is now a
fierce fight for what I know
       is good & beyond the afternoon,
       things really aren't that
       bad are they?

or are we just making
it seem like they are?

            always shining:
                                   overpasses, freeways,
                                   suburbs & subways -

city lights,
               in my veins like a virus,
               in my head, like a dream..

One Step Ahead

mind is an

atom
bomb

I want to be rogue w/ wayward
stories to tell of roads swallowing
           me whole & forests inviting me in

mind is surreal:
suggested thoughts are
so elastic -

tomorrow is tomorrow is tomorrow

capped energy, let's go smiling in swelling tides..

"city lights lay out before us & your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder.."

pour.ma.soeur

& rabid stones stood sinking
    & dreaming near gasoline
    shores & soaked to the skin are those
same copy/pasted highways from five hours away
         all-ages included in memory
                     empty spaces, no more visions
                     of green

& driving every two weeks to & from
               familiarity w/ those sapphire stops
               in between (sometimes..)
& still we danced
& still we screamed at the top of our minds

always existing somewhere in the middle of black & white

Clone T.O.wn

an urban afternoon of lunacy,
                             of no more teenage angst
                                              teenage violence
                                              took its place
where a no man's & madness motherland sleep
          a few blocks away

& everyone copies how to behave
                a copy
            of a copy
            of a copy

"..she tells the same old story to everyone that she knows.."

Highway 11

w/ streetlights causing midday
much too bright madness this town's
too small for anyone caught in
between realities because what
             you see is what you speak is what you scream

& roads never different
& windows always the same
& this home/my home (my pleasure/my foe)
& familiarity: a catch-22 for my mind..

Home (& Back Again..)

& where city streets disconnect
    w/ so many smiling souls & eager minds
                                              eager to learn & to live & to live again
& where bullets bend
              through bodies
              through lifetimes through happiness in
              a laugh, in a long morning
                             (a good morning..)
& in a short goodbye in an unfamiliar
town where I saw such a familiar face

& where tides are softer now
I miss the diamond shores, the sapphire
voices of yesterday still burn in my own
           mind & this memory is no longer
                                                           cursed

& the concrete wave every night filled
    w/ strangers, w/ friends, w/ anyone trying to
                             pretend to be anything but themselves

high & hiding from suburban legends
                     far too deep..

& this place is mad
& this world has had enough
madness for one day
& now horizons stretch like
eleven & its trees still
              stand naked
                                 still waiting for a
                                 summer's sun..

CON(crete)VERSATION

"you have a body of melting memory, & at the
slowest pace, the most random places are
now your home, so please take this number
down, please take this stone, please
shatter your reality & reality is all you'll ever
           own

           you blew through the ages, timeless imagery
           imagining a cost to your freedom, a reason for
           perplexing dreams - now it's your turn to run
away in this maddening forest of urban storms -
you've crushed empty sidewalks w/ cemented
                        grins, you've pushed all magnolias
                        from such green fields,

now let me in.."
   

Subvert.Girl

overpass stories & rats
              that wouldn't let you
              sleep & how every time I
                           see you
                                 you look so much older

(my mind rattles)

Merry Christmas (A True Story)

downtown cold &
consuming
a man told me he used to drink

Listerine & shoot up heroine
(but now it's just alcohol & pot)

& I felt such a contrast while sitting there
    in the Rideau Centre (buyers never weary)
    the season is spitting &
    we're all supposed to think that
                                                    it's good times for all

except that's not true & you can be
           positive all you want but there's still
                                   going to be someone out there w/

a disregard for the season because
I'm sure they have their reasons
for doing what they do..

Spiderwebs

this night has
      melted into too many
      casualties trying to reach the
edge of dawn
        where beaten voices
                  still believe in summer
                  dreaming about ages in the sun

w/ loaded gunning thoughts
tomorrow will never fade
                painted hands broke the ground
                stones reflecting off sapphire
                bombs always explode
at the most random times like
         when memory is sleeping..
           (my memory is wide awake)
& sometimes it screams so loud that I
can remember everything

what would it be like?
just a second of silence?
maybe it's like being thrown in that bomb of
gemstone safety..

smiles for yesterday,

          the future is running toward
          its own shadow:

a new song in this vein..

Road/Rogue Warrior

riding w/ conversations, she delighted
              starlit riots w/ stories of drifting canopies
              & sleeping on midnight summer beaches

she said that their shores were
      so close to your soul that energy
      can't help but pour out of your veins because
                     it wants to see if sunshine
really does have freewill

& if it does, then there really
isn't anything to be afraid of..

Ottawa (in a nutshell)

Blair Station & its "middle of nowhere, yet
                             middle of everything.." feel
        Sunday night groceries & the shelves
        would always scream of emptiness
                                         because it was Sunday night
                                                                        after all

concrete madness & bored
                               teenage tags & teenage riots

a thousand times (it feels like..) walking
                                                                toward nowhere..
                                                                toward somewhere..
                                                                toward nothing..
                                                                toward everything..
               

(No)Room With/For a View

escaped Suburbia
escaped what's to be
              expected because someone else says so
escaped moonless nights
             & cold city streets

escaped hometown ideals too close
             for comfort can't stray
                                       too far from the designated lines of
                                       past generations
                                       past books &
                                       past what's supposed to be..

just leave me on the road
                     on the highway w/ its
                     familiar/comforting yellow
                                                            intermittent lines

a light from miles away
& I recognize
& am flooded w/ so many lost moments
& so many found eyes

"..I've changed by not changing at all.."

1990-2001

there's something to be said
           about Sundays
           & slow days
           & highways divided by minutes
                              35 or 45 (depending on the year..)
& the fields
& that green bridge
& the shared rooms w/ all-night
                                    conversations finding names
                                    on ceilings a thousand times over

there will always be something to be said
          about Sundays
          about after dinner 6 p.m. goodbyes
          about closing the car door

& waiting in the many entrances
& a fading black speck on #11..

Reality Cheques

the world is a falling bomb
                  a shooting star w/ no place
                  left to go but comatose
destinations, reinvention of something new
                                         something smiling
                                         something worth the cost of

an eyesight so beautiful
a sunset so memorable
a peace
            & ash will always caress

the world is a ticking clock
                  a broken dinner plate too close to the edge
              & a memory of days spent running in wet grass
glass fills our lungs & we breathe in shards of
sunlight desperation
                                this highway is magnetic w/ joy & I'm happy
                                to go w/ these amicable tides

this is freedom
in hearts this is freedom in
             buildings thrown on foundations of
this is freedom to speak
                       to raid your mind
                       to ride your ready-made thoughts
                       to blow the sky away

one day
at a time

Mother Nurture

the mind
my mind
is a desert

or so it seems
a hurricane of thought
where thunder dreams
up ways to
keep me awake

never sleep
never sleep
ALWAYS THINK
never sleep

flooded w/ photographs, memories & moments..
seasons in mind, in my head
months define/demand attention

"..& I feel safer in the eye of the storm.."

beat.game.pome

home
is
where
the
heart
is
there
anybody
home?

82/28

carcinogen waves hit
           this town like a bomb
           (where will madness smile?)
no time left to run, too busy screaming
     after that forgotten highway

to come back for us
                      for them
                      for me

Main St. 4 a.m. desolation many times
              that short walk home
                             on dark pavement
                             under pieces of
streetlight / shards of familiarity

& no conversations
as many eyes sang
dangerously close to my veins

Peaces of War

I met up w/ a memory, or at least a
peace of it.. & we're both shining
                   & we're both screaming
we walked the alleys & spoke of many
things: of empty buses & pseudo wild nights
          spent under canopies
(didn't matter where exactly..)
I've seen you shining & I've seen you screaming
                                & enemies aren't memories (anymore)

let's put an end to the war on the mind..

(reality)Between the Lines

warfare of the senses, open a window for

p
e
a
c
e

you crashed through the night like a speed king ready
for the thrill, probably thinking life's too far away

t
o
d
a
y

& still
the forests burn
the cities burn
the voices burn

w/ empathy

Second Skin

& midnight came
& we ran toward each other on
such snowy, hometown December streets
lights hanging from roofs because it was the season
(after all..)

two years worth of conversations exploded..
your stories of glories & defeats, of good times
wild times, bad times, crazy times w/ him,
w/ them, w/ yourself.. I'll always want to hear them..

come back soon though
come back & laugh before that same midnight,
w/ those same colours dancing on the edge of
those same roofs

comes back

Afternoon Determination

a thousand voices speak
& a thousand more scream

my mind echoes thoughts like in distant caverns
you've read about secretly in the far corner of
abandoned rooms still stained w/ remnants
of webs invading

windows where you can still see the cracks
(they spread like fragile veins)

pieces of sunlight still pierce through
& suddenly, there's a rainbow on your floor

I silenced two thousand voices today

pome.for.(a).Bee

"remember to bring some flowers.."
& rage through your descent toward peace
while beating your own glass wings,
they will surely break anything close to

ignorance - & don't forget to knock down those locked doors,
to collapse in front of those dirty steps
too much
too often
too many..

(& sing..)
the same will be said for your screaming
keep stirring those echoes always past
midnight

that's when these streetlights will open their arms
& show you kindness..

"Take Care of Yourselves, & Each Other.."

this is a mad time
in a mad world

you breathe in glass air
through lungs craving for
another moment under
mad morning stars

addicted to walls
to those short instances where
the definition of living seems
wrapped up in grey, thick canvas

transparent no longer
this mad city embraces
steel comfort & concrete peace

remember these mad times
remember these mad times
remember these mad times

because they sure won't last

Echoes (of Ferlinghetti)

for every single moment they've wrapped us in madness
we've left them sitting under past-midnight streetlights
& they're never quite satisfied w/ their time being spent
screaming their voices from their spaced out throats
                                  to our own out of space minds

& all I can say is that freedom is coming
it's coming to find you
                       & you
                       & you

                                                  so be ready for that particular second
                                                  when it comes & remember that when
                                                  it comes, don't be caught blinking in
                                                  the middle of a setting sun..

instead,
speak the instant you think
& think the instant you breathe
& breathe the instant you..

                         these hallways are so much brighter now -
                         w/ their new walls, & the picture frames on those walls

"I'm sorry, I've been known to sink into a memory or two,
 & I've been known to crash hard into the comforting comfort
                                                    of sapphire waves
                                                    of the past..
                                                    of the future.."

& these highways are so much wider now
w/ their veteran trees waiting for the season to be over
                                 waiting for more waiting to start..
another winter-to-spring romance is at hand (for all to see)

             & they're watching
             all the windows of the world are watching
             & they're ready to shout it shout it shout it
             (the truth, that is..)

endless roads
endless rogues
endless..

meet me under this machinery of stars at 2 a.m.
& we'll wait..
& we'll shake hands w/ dawn itself..

Pome for 3:

this is sublime.
          vengeful tides of occasions spent thinking too much have
          sent me spinning out of de-controlled skies again
& this sudden urging urgency to be everyone's knight in used armour
will not penetrate through my outer skin

I cannot sit here anymore
              sit here & watch as the skin turns to
              bones, turns to dust, turns to..

I remember meeting this elderly woman on Bank Street in 2007
& what struck me the most about her was that circumstances never
for a second trampled her smile.. her love of life seemed to contradict
an article I read several weeks later that stated all those without
a home were junkies, one hundred percent of them would take change
offered to them & fetch their fix..
                                                                 I knew that just couldn't be..

there are stories
the woman who gave her son up for adoption.. I think her name was Tricia..
the nineteen-year-old girl, Chloe, sitting by the Rideau Centre..
& the elderly woman, I did not catch her name..but I'm sure someone
out there has called her "Mom" in the past..

yes this is sublime.
the tides are swelling high now
& occasions spent thinking too much about
what's on the horizon are throwing me into
                                       
                                                     deafening spins..

Research in (e)Motion(less Times)

media is mediocre
media medicates us &
our minds are now
                              malnourished w/ wants (not needs)

& desire now burns like
                      summer bonfires quickly
                      spreading & destroying
                      what we see as
                                                 familiarity
another season, another round of
above ground madness because
the latest trend, we just can't afford it

              & our hands continue to clutch tightly
              around connecting pieces & our brains
              are screaming

"HOW WILL THE WORLD SURVIVE WITHOUT ME BEING IN IT AT ALL TIMES?!"

& now, it's a constant flow of
this & that & how can I make
that surge stop? there must
be a way of silencing these
bombs of technological

w
a
r
f
a
r
e

Main St(reetlights)

we march under overpasses much too low for our own concrete heads
w/ so little time left over to spend any of it thinking about our future
mistakes & what we'll never do about them.. a journey without
a destination, a marketed smile without a cost:
these are things that just don't matter (in a long series of ends..)

& you can tower all you want over zen skies, I will not answer the call
that is expected of me - change(s) flattened out the horizon & clarity
is my new virus, my new vision, my new void to fill up to the rim..

I have seen & felt the distance that is thrown on me once
that blue sign is crossed.. I want to shout at #11 for ages
because we can't keep being strangers in such a familiar place..

we can't keep being strangers around such familiar faces (anymore)

Tinseltown Really Understands This Home

(sub)reality:
sublet your mind, invite communication (pat)RIOTS in your low-ceiling hallways -

angry, screaming voices on a Saturday night & it's not even 11:30 yet..
I've chosen to live in anti-ignorance for any sound heard directly below
my  new picture window (which my past self is envious of, by the way..)

                                       this place: w/ hate & love all in the same day
                                       & sometimes even in the same moment

toward ourselves, our loved ones, our children
it seems like it's always somebody else's fault
for our own targeted (mis)fortunes..

I'm not a void
& I'm not avoiding the words

                             but it's such a strange feeling..

(self)Polarization

s
   p
      i
         n
            n
                i
                   n
                      g

away the days we've been caught once before in sheltered caves catching
                                                                          shattered waves by the dozen
like it was a passing fad, a nomadic habit, a sporadic memory that will never
be searched for again:

"you have the voice of a thousand eyes & I've been cursed w/ the eyes of a thousand voices.."

our mirrors keep on finding ways for us to self-criticize, but we're all enemies here anyway
                 
                  so it doesn't even matter who said what about who when & where

(life IS a fast lane..)