Untitled MLXXIV

  How are

         you as a catch-all

    your ghosts?

What are they

         for everyone joined laughing,

   smiling about?

         and maybe better off.

Patrick of Democracy

Patrick wears home-made distressed Levi's.   They look dirty but I'm giving the benefit of the doubt because I do not know this man.  I do know the type.  What a head of hair he's got!  You do not need to speak well or teach well to be a professor.  You do not need to be in shape or possessing of supreme fashion sense.

But Prof Great-Hair, you lazy bastard, you!  You embody your career.  I assume you are smarter than you let on.  Smart and well read.  Your sensible shoes become you.  If I should creep on you and find your number, would you answer?  Your phone is leather-bound and on your hip - just in case, I wonder.

He laughs.  Our eyes connect.  I picture him as a mall Santa and that, too, is fitting.  

this is my metaphor for being unable to produce any writings

It's like an iceberg in here.  Except below the surface of ice isn't just more ice.  Below the surface of ice are flowers, dead flowers probably.  Yeah, dead flowers.  Flowers that have bent stems and missing petals and sad colors.  Lovely flowers.  

Below the flowers is more ice. 

aujourd'hui c'était comme feu ce sentiment.  soudainment je me suis trouvée dans un rue et j'ai su.

il faut que le français soit* toujours dans ma vie.  

*this morning we went into a place and Stephen and Laura went first so the man behind the counter spoke to me in english and I responded in french because it just felt better to me.  I didn't say much.  just a bonjour and a merci... a little bonne journée is all...and this man has the GAUL** to say to me "it's so good that you know how to say thank you in french, some of the people in west montreal can't even say hello or thank you" and I walked out of there radiating foul juices, so angry (so sad).  I wanted to say that I could say a whole lot more than just thank you in french.  I wanted to yell at him!  I wanted to yell at him in french!  I am not a dumb american.  my chorus sang "of course you can! you can even navigate the tricky tricky subjunctive!" and I felt better almost instantly 'cause you know what.  I sure can.  What does he know?  Con.  Putain.  This verb was in the subjunctive form.  

** get it!? Gall? Gaul?? FRANCE! you know like francophone place like montreal.  it made me laugh.  she laughs at her own puns, that's so much lower than laughing at her own jokes it's sad.  no it's awesome actually.  

Canadian hobo's don't want your money, they just want you to put them in a cup or a poster.  

this what i learned today. 

I wrote a poem today.  It started:

I am writing you a left-handed poem

because everything is backwards...

but it went downhill fast from there.

you were not the you,

in case you wondered. 

around 5/6 of the way through

i salvaged it i think

created some interesting

...yet thought provoking...

statements

had some good lines to try and fight the wealth

of bad ones

but i ended up throwing it away

because i hated it.

i wrote that poem with my left hand

but not all poems written with the left hand are

left-handed poems. 

this was not my poem. 

Lessons Learned from Drunks #13

when you piss and 

miss the toilet,

it is advisable

to start again

maybe in a new stall