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This is what happens when I’m left alone. It’s cold, not in here, but it’s cold. I can tell. I’m wearing my Spring slippers. Sometimes I want to push them, the people on the escalators, just to see what happens. I don’t want to hurt them, I just want to see them, tumble, tumble down like dominoes, one after another. Why don’t people dance more? And sing? Just dance and sing on the street. They listen to their iPhones. I hear the music pouring out of their headphones; techno, rap, pop, rock, why don’t they dance? People talk on their cell phones, loudly, they talk
about things that aren’t my business. They talk about getting pregnant or cheating on their boyfriends, but mostly they talk about boring things, things no one wants to hear, not me, not even the person on the other side of the phone. They should dance. People kiss, they grope and touch and pet and kiss, right out there for everyone to see, but you have to be crazy to dance. I love little old ladies. You see them, still pushing on all these years, they shop and push their little carts; they ride the bus and go to Bingo. I don’t think I’ll be like that. I forget everything at the store, I never look at my list, my cart always breaks, the wheel comes off, I can never find my Metrocard. At 43, I can’t take care of myself, I certainly wouldn’t be any better at 90. I think everyone who walks by me on the subway is going to try and push me onto the tracks. I give the cat fresh water; he likes it out of a Dasani bottle, cold from the fridge. It’s not bottled water, it’s tap water in a bottle, don’t tell the cat. I can take care of the cat, he asks for what he wants; meow give him food, meow give him water, meow pet his head, then he sleeps. The bunny doesn’t ask for anything, sometimes I think he’ll die. I check his water bottle and it’s dry. I don’t know how long it’s been dry, but it’s dry. I fill it up from the sink. He doesn’t get water from the fridge, he never asks. The cat looks at the bunny like he’s stupid as the bunny tosses an old roll from paper towels around. I’m glad I’m not the only one the cat thinks is stupid. “Everyone is stupider than I am,” The cat tells me. I’m not sure how that is possible since he’s never gone to school. I’ve had him since he was a kitten, and I would’ve known if he ever went to school. But I try not to argue with the cat, I never win. Sometimes I wish he was a little more obedient, but I learned long ago that saying something like that would just open up a can of worms. My mother never talks to the cat, she only talks to the dog. The dog tells her what she needs to hear, how great she is and all that. The cat only says things like that when I’m rubbing him behind the ear; even then I know he’s just purring it to get what he wants, afterwards he always denies it. I don’t think I believe in God anymore. I think the waiting room for heaven is like prison, everyone asks what you’re in for. If you die in a stupid way, you have to lie, no one wants to say, “I got hit by an ambulance” or “I choked on my retainer in the middle of the night.” Everyone says they died saving a puppy or a baby or something. Not the little old ladies though, they say they slipped in the shower, and they were 84 and they’re proud. I won’t be like that. I have treads in my shower, so I won’t slip. I don’t know what matches, I never have. I buy everything in the same colors so I don’t have to worry, it helps with laundry too, I can’t be bothered with sorting. How come no one in workshop class ever told e e cummings he had to use capitals? Maybe they did, maybe what makes him so great is that he didn’t listen. I wonder if he got an F. I wait for the call from the Library of Congress, the one inviting me to be Poet Laureate, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been published, maybe that’s because I never submit anything. Maybe I should get a dog. Bubbles! There should be more bubbles, just everywhere. My plants always die, I can’t take care of plants, they just sit there, they don’t ask for anything, they don’t ask for what they need, not until it’s too late. I hate the subway, people touch me on the subway, they touch me on the back. I wish people wouldn’t touch me on the back. The other women are so short compared to me, I stand next to them and look down upon them as if they’re flowers, they’re so colorful and smell so sweet, I want to pluck them. What would happen if I picked one up, what would people do? It’s New York, I doubt anyone would care. Well, except for the woman I picked. She’d probably make a fuss until I put her down. Silly little ladies. Maybe I’ll just dance.

My shadow grew very slightly larger today, I am quite certain of it! For all that you tell me that my senses are failing me in my age, I could not be more confident that that bastard Nillux has cast another one of his divination magics- probably engineered a brand new spell that he knew I would notice, just so he could show off. Well, if he thinks he’s that damned smart, tell me why he’s not conjuring up a fireball inside my large intestine? The fool hasn’t even cracked the simplest of my wards, yet he still insists on spending weeks at a time manufacturing new sets of eyes to watch me, to the point where I’m starting to think that he’s just doing it to piss me off. Being honest with you, it may be working, too- not only the constant itch of someone watching you, but the sheer lack of sportsmanship! Myself, I’m a reasonable man, I set up a few Arcane Eyes and maybe a dozen casts of Clairvoyance, and this sniveling toad decided that that’s just not good enough for him, has to have mind-bonded rats eating all the food in my bloody pantry and an enslaved demon to keep watch over me through my damned shaving mirror. He hardly even tries to kill me anymore, you know that? I haven’t had to Counterspell a bolt of lightning on my way to the grocer for nearly two weeks, and I waste all this time setting up a scanning system, go through the effort of imprisoning a dozen souls in a magic contraption, even consort with a dirty gnome to make the thing fit on the front of my carriage, and what do I find? The man hasn’t even tried to set up a single explosive glyph on a single road in the entire city! I tell you, you spend a week without blowing something up in a wizard duel and you might as well give up your hat and retire, for all the effort you’re putting in.

I say, though, and it’s quite painful to be unable to put too much detail in here (since the prat will almost certainly read this), I think I’ve got the man smoked. You remember how I got his fifth son with that acid pit a few years back, right? And how he got me back with my third eldest with that meteor? Well, I finally got around to inspecting the mess that it made and I think that the dunce managed to leave a couple of his skin follicles on the thing. I can’t say much more, but I think that I can magic up something right proper for this arsehole, really show him what’s what! I say, you spend two hundred years trying to kill a man, you’d better make sure that you kill him proper, none of that magically-induced-heart-attack nonsense. Anyways, I manage to stamp out this cockroach and finish mopping up the rest of his inbred line, I say we round up a couple of the lads and go out for some drinks- on me. Hope this letter finds you well, send my love to Sybil and the boys, and hopefully I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, hey hey?

Friendly regards,
Magus Dominatus Argentus Necklethorn, Esq.

P.S: Hope your sister’s feeling better after that bout of lycanthropy- I know an excellent herbalist in Stolham if you’re in need, and an even better “herbalist” in Malhots if that more tickles your fancy.

P.P.S: Nillux, if you’re reading this, which I know bloody well you are, I’ll see you in hell, you greasy, shite-encrusted, moronic, rodent-like, beady-eyed, tasteless, incompetent, ghoul-sodomising, goblin-romancing sack of subpar sweetrolls in a cheap robe

She says I’m just her favorite little worm,
In the black soil we push and squirm,
Her shadow towers over us enveloping me as the shine feigns off her smile,
In the tar and mud I’m clawing away the soaking vultures,
Her violent giggle pierces as she stomps my spine,
The walls watch as I throw my arm, crack my fist, and bust the lip,
I become her muddied carpet,
Drag the hell on the sickly sinner,
She’s caught me in nylon fishing net,
Pluck every razor and serve them cold,
Cut my throat to let the insects in,
Coil all the snakes to clean your hair,
Cut my lips to give my cherry toothy grin,
Coil all the centipedes to strip us bare,
I am your darkest heart,
I am your crimson side,
I am your deepest part,
I am your christian bride.

Lay me on the table and drain me of my blood. My carotid artery craves the cold, sweet sting of your scalpel. Pump be full of formaldehyde. Don’t forget the dye.

Massage me deep and tender, pushing blood out in broad stripes, chemicals in like bright stars.

Pierce me with your trocar, straight through my heart. My lungs, my bladder, my kidneys, and intestines. Destroy them. Take them all. Fill them with your fluids.

Close my eyes with eye caps lest I further see your face. Stitch my mouth shut lest I further speak against you. Plump my sunken features, pat some makeup on my skin—though amber as waves of grain and purple as mountain majesties, bruises are not welcome here.

Dress me in my Sunday best and place me in my casket for my family to see. Let them weep to the twinkling loop of piano music amidst stock footage of waves on a beach. Among the scent of flowers and lemon cleaner in a church I’d never been to they will mourn a woman not yet dead.

Let them grieve.

Let them cry.

Though my soul is not yet gone, my body may as well be.

I would have more rights if I were dead.

There’s a part of we-evil I don’t understand
You! Should I squeeze, bang, drown you?
You head-drilled a hole into my beans
The beans village aunt sent by night bus
A parcel robed in brown polythene
The parcel, I unwrapped myself
Found you wrapping yourself
Around my village beans
I scooped a cup, found you under a bean
That’s when my eyes caught holed beans
Knew your female mates were in it too; peek-a-boo
You fell on your back, fluttered your limbs, making fun of me?
You got on your feet; success – another chase
You looked at me and bean with holes
I feel you – for you I feel
I look forward to my bean fill
Deal with me or cut a deal with your lot?
I poked you; you fell on the tray
I poked you; you played dead – like a tomb
You thought I’d forgotten you or been hit by night blackness
You started a crawl, again
Should I smash your pin head or pin-head body?
Should I squeeze, bang, drown your body?
You are a pin drop; it’s ridiculous
Sun-bathe you lot – roast you, give you a chance to escape?
Village aunt didn’t succeed
Send you back? Ungrateful, insulting
Chase you and your lot? Not enough time in a day
I forgot about you and let you be
I washed, boiled, fried; like you never were
I will have you; if you survive all that
I did not think of you as bonus food, not pest problem, why?
Village aunt will be a peacock; proud
Me no longer fussing about sitophilus granarius
Weevil, we-evil, who between us is evil?

silent breakage of rigid yellow leaves
shattered fallen are broken apples
red of life, yet rotten humble death

I confront oh, ravishing strong gale roars
as subtly haunting flowery footprints echo
whispering tunes like fragrances in grave
of fake crippled beauty draped on and on

Oh! they reap on rotten, half stolen apples
sorrowfully feed to cold asleep famished
with white starving fingers, now alive blood.

I’d like to be something written.
Not necessarily a text…
but something written…
you know what I mean, don’t you?

I’d like to be something written,
which is why I’ve given up writing written things.

I can feel it, I’m no longer the youngest
or the cleverest of them all.
I can no longer surpass my father.
I’m no longer a child who writes lovely poems.

Now I can only make up nonsense,
because something happened between me as a child and now.

I don’t want to grow old, I just want to grow up.
I’m not 18 any more.
I should have said no from the start.
I shouldn’t have given myself away.
But something happened between me as a child and now.

And now it’s too late.
I let it happen in silence,
I kept quiet in front of my parents,
I healed from things I didn’t tell my mother.

And now I’m left with words to read,
of course, but only lines to write.
We don’t deserve letters any more, I think.
Or maybe we’ve simply become the latter…
who can’t write or express ourselves in anything other than lines.

Something happened between me as a child and now.
Something… immense has happened.
And now I think that everything written is inhuman…
or too human.

I’d like to be something written, you know?
And you… yes, you.
All of you who write and write…
for all of you who would so much like to be a poem at least once.

I have love to give you.

You rat!

You swine!

You ripped through the tenements in Wuhan
You ran through Mount Royal and Fifth Avenue
As if you had a right to invade
Then you paused in Lynn Valley and later Northwood
Crept in to the unsuspecting, ill-prepared, already-dying
and squeezed the last breaths from their old bodies.
You fiend!

You beast!

You circle the herd in Edmundston,
stalking the weakest
and most vulnerable

You prowl around the GTA like a roaring lion
Seeking whom you can devour.

You hover in the air, landing everywhere.
You scurry along fingertips and jump on to open lips.
You infest, twist, spear, replicate and adhere.

You despicable piece of crap!

Spray, wipe, wash, scrub, rinse, wash some more.

Mask your mouth.

Cover your nose.

Shield your eyes.

No classes, no work, no parties,
No bars, no restaurants, no cafes,
No daycares, no gyms, no casinos,
No concerts, no plays, no symphony,
No sports, no bowling, no bingo,
No meetings, no groups, no church,
No vacations, no camps, no conferences.

Cancelled, closed, postponed
terminated, suspended, delayed, and shutdown.

Be afraid!

Be alert!

Be careful!

Stay safe!

Don’t touch me.
Don’t breathe on me.
Talk to me from the end of the driveway.

Give me daily briefings, on TV and radio,
By email, Twitter and Facebook.
Blast me with the horrific, the incomprehensible and the devastating.

You bloodthirsty devil
Licking your chops.
Slurping the hatred and the sorrow,
Scheming for tomorrow.

YouTube channels broadcast
Children, families, cities,
Regions, nations and continents
Singing ‘The Blessing’ together on Zoom

Virtual meetings bring healing into isolated homes.
Parents teach children while working remotely.
Business owners care for their employees.
Churches drop traditions and share concerns.
Families reunite from long distances apart.

The world shrinks.
We see each other differently.
Rich, poor, famous, unknown
Standing on equal ground.

Icons of sport, entertainment and industry
no longer have the power to command our attention
to the exclusion of the people in our lives.

You detestable demon, we reject you.
We choose love
You slithering snake, we refuse to hate.
We choose love
You inhuman creature, we spurn your invitation.
We choose love

We choose to love our planet.
We choose to love our cities.
We choose to love our families.
We choose to love each other.
We choose Love.

We sat so still no one knew that I was beginning to come unglued
I thought I should reach down to tie her shoe
I stole a kiss from her cheek she caught a teardrop sipped a drink
It froze in a place until she let her hair down
We view the flowers growing outside each one was different in the light
The one that touched me deep within was the one I knew
My voice rose over the café din, “I think I love you!” “Is this where love begins?”
The door flew open her dress danced upon the wind
My love, my honey, you’re so fine she kissed my lips it tasted like wine
I closed my eyes like a window with pulled blinds
Left behind my sense of self, she pulled a book back off the shelf
The words led me back with a vague clue
What would you say if I could say what it is that you want me to say?
She laughed for a moment thought to herself you’ll do
Hands fasted we held each other tight
Walked out the door into the bustling street
Out here something means something somehow
It was a stroll but I wasn’t alone the company was good this much I know
We went upstairs to the place I called home
Took off her coat kicked off her shoes
I glanced at the paper for the daily news
I sat on the coach placed the phone off the hook
Love is tender Love is sublime hold me forever while we still got time
Never forget that I am yours you are mine

There in the lifeless time
When the sunshine could remain
Some form then
As the clouds might remain
In the breeze