this flag not fondly waving #6

now it's computers and more computers
and soon everybody will have one,
3-year olds will have computers
and everybody will know everything
about everybody else
long before they meet them
and so they won't want to meet them.
nobody will want to meet anybody
else ever again
and everybody will be
a recluse
like i am now.

--Charles Bukowski

sit still

when you played with my hair,
that was the best part.
i could stop talking,
close my eyes,
and lay my head upon your lap.
everything created halted.
the feel of your fingers
became my universe.

it's all i ever wanted:
your bedroom just small enough
to sit still and be quiet in,

and the sparks that jump
off your fingernails
as we sigh away the night.

night watches me

you have your eyes closed
and i am awake,
as night watches me
wander the streets,
whispering your european name
to no one but stray cats
who hold vigil over
my footsteps fading.

and i long to hear your voice
more than my own tonight,
describing everything you dream
after you fall asleep.

daymonth

i remember
how we danced that night,
your hair a waterfall of light
spilling out your
precious skull,

the days and months and years
melting into one moment
when we stood side by side
and forgot our names and fears

after the music stopped
it all came back to me,
how beautiful your name is
when whispered softly,
how the wall you painted
your portrait upon
is strong but crumbling,
how i tremble when you're near.

before and after doesn't matter,
in a house full of abstract ideas
we made perfect sense,
and that's more than enough
to build a dream together.

galaxy

you're probably still caressing
the porcelain throne as i write this,
but i just wanted you to know
that i was so happy to see
your warm and tender cottage,
and all the art you created
out of thin air and blood
hanging on your walls,
and all the important tiny things
that hold your beautiful body still
in the middle of the night.

i felt a great rise of delight
crackle within me
as the bottle grew empty,
and the poems were read,
and you looked at me with
your alive eyes,
so electric in their vision.

and while i wanted to stay
in that room forever
to listen to the silence
that blankets your dreams,
i felt it a more gentlemanly act
to leave you with your whiskey sickness,
so you wouldn't be
so embarrassed upon waking
at finding me
dozing in your bed,
Bukowski sleeping
right beside.

when you wake in the morning
and find this waiting
know that
the 3am Toronto streets
were brighter than they'd ever been,
for the smile you gave me
shines like
the heart of a galaxy.

bleach

i didn't want to leave.

i wanted to smell
the bleach in your hair
all through the night,
while the city sighed
and the silence
covered our nervous bones
like a blanket.

moon palace

"Libraries aren't in the real world, after all. They're places apart, sanctuaries of pure thought. In that way I can go on living on the moon for the rest of my life."

--Paul Auster, "Moon Palace"