black boots in the white

Lights up over Burlington, I light up and the air is so thin, I take a breath I, lose control and, it’s always Church Street in the dead of winter, buried in the snow with a hint of, a little problem, a little solvent, black boots in the white, you think we’ll miss it?

Here we are whiskey breath on your doorstep, peeling off layers of regret, slipping on ice, saying these words so trite. I know I'll miss it, I think I've lost it, another February in your cellar and another year lost to the high. Another year lost to the high.

san francisco, ca 2011 // orange van, well traveled.

i have my masters in memory

i tell people i've got a master's in memories
making them feel longer than a second
but only letting you see the second that they stuck.
and as for him and his heart well
i'm in for the long haul in my head
though the sad truth is
i'm always choosing the other end of a road
they call it running away but at least it's somewhere to go.

toronto, august 2009

you used to talk to me till i fell asleep i like slipped through your hands then. i used to walk with you to feel the weigh of it so try to look alive alright?

(from my LJ, january 2009)