I wanted to be taller than I am.
better, too.
I keep trying to try.
I am a valley.
in barefeet
in backyards.
on bloody streets.
give back to the source or the sea.
you're name is James
and you tell me about death.
in Toronto
is, from what I've heard,
where the real poets hang out.
something of love.
life sucks and you are already dead.
this much we know.
and fight.
nothingness is fun.
dispatch the songs that sing along the way.
dying in Montreal, too.
and cornered by natural desire.
I think of my ways and my days...
it doesnt have to be so dark, life.