An Abstract for Insecurity

I’m my best self in the morning, and as the day goes on

Indecision and insecurity breed each other into dependency,

I want to dance in the kitchen of our lives, like slow mornings over bowls and breakfast. Hit the road with you, trains and airplanes

Our moods are tells for an exhaustion we can’t appease, rising and falling in darkness,

I don’t want to make you an anchor for stability. We’d just sink to the bottom.

Hit the mat with emotional uncertainty, breathe length into it, leave independently.

take a byte

some kinda student
of the world
the digital sears
my eyes
this retina display
an optical delusion
trying to adjust the brightness
of reality

watch the waves
of content, waterfall
latency (what the fuck)
built by digital engineers
first thing we do in the morning
gather at the watering hole
get drunk on listicles

no place for that old booky smell
no place for a lover in the morning light
or psychedelic escapes in the summertime
job prospects perched on the windowsill
hold onto your stories
tidal wave’s coming

The Met is dripping

some workers are looking
for the problem

I’m sitting in the room with the Egyptian Ruins
& massive windows that look out
over Central Park

See Susan, one worker says
he points at a wet spot on the ground
Susan touches the drip
nods seriously

The wishing well beneath me
the floor to ceiling windows
the metal that frames the glass
creates a grid of rectangles
the water grids ripple

Over here too Susan
Susan walks a couple of feet
touches a larger water drop with her pointer
rubs it between her fingers
nods gravely

A girl takes a selfie in front of
Male Figure with a Diadem
2nd – 1st century
she smiles with all her teeth
she lifts the phone up way overhead
snaps & walks away grimly
face cast down to phone
she nearly walks into Susan

The ladies beside me draw up their legs quickly
Susan almost walks on them
Susan is not aware of her surroundings
her neck is craned up at the ceiling
she is holding her neck with her hand
it’s sore
she’s been staring at the ceiling for ten minutes

There is a brown pile of something in the wishing well
it’s not shit
it’s ceiling
Susan sees
shakes her head
her shoes click as
walks away primly

Susan comes back with a pale and
a net
most often used to clean out
tiny fishbowls
she fishes out the piece of ceiling
drops it in the bucket
her co-worker picks up the bucket
they walk away

It’s hard to say what they’ll do with it
a drop falls on my neck

Boy will be

“When in doubt, wear lipstick.” -Sina Queyras
Put my eyes on
before work.
Wear a silk scarf
like a cowboy.
Pull my hair up,
let my hair down,
dress the part:
yesterday’s jeans,
last season’s jacket.
This morning I want to look
Inside I’m afraid of haters,
but I hold on to that
like the lipstick,
bright red
for the boys.

Park on the water

There’s a spot
in south Mississauga
where the branches of the willows
kiss the earth.

Sometimes when I feel the weight
of my reality too heavy
I take out an old bicycle from the garage
and ride the suburban streets
listening to the playlist you made me.

Today I don’t even change out of my old sweatpants
as I mount the machine
desperate for escape.

I steer down the strip
eyeing the early come-homers
in the slant of late afternoon light:
one guy is wearing neon shades
like he can’t wait
for May 2-4.

I veer into the park
park my tires in the sand
pop out my headphones
watch swans dive head first into
B   L   I   S   S

I soothe my own consciousness
turn my bike round
and swerve through the row of trees
with a renewed sense of duty
the same way nature
doesn’t give into the seasons
but simply
becomes part of the changing

When I return home
mother tells me the students
studied character traits in stories of


Metaphors for Fear and Indecision

It seems like I’m always on the fence. Whole-heartedly halfway between things. Searching for commitment, then the next commitment, then dreading commitment. Because the c-word sounds a lot like closing doors, and it’s the open road I long for. Set goals along the lines of, by this time next year I’ll have goals, deferring the long term, treating the future like a flipbook of dreams where everyday I have a new one and they are all achievable. It wouldn’t be wrong, except it’s not real if they’re never nurtured in time, and right now I’d rather run sprints than do a marathon. Finding freedom in freedom from the fear of failing. Less risk with less responsibility which I describe as time for self-discovery. Ten years from now I… and it’s always different.

That March – From 2014

No one is something
all the time
he says between
of breakfast for lunch.

It’s late afternoon
and we’re wrestling
meaning: debating
and debunking the
geometric skeleton
of clichés,
trying to fracture
their sentiment,
feed them zesty
onion sting, the miracle
of broccoli.

Omelette over Hellgoing
and as the sun starts to sink
like a bloody broken egg
I think nothing
will ever be