January 7th, 2010... Dear Women, I'm Sorry... the fundraiser.

JANUARY 7th, 2010.

Casbah Lounge, Hamilton, Ontario.

Come out...

The Dear Women, I'm Sorry Fundraiser.
"Raising money to release a book."

I wrote my first collection of poetry and am planning to independently release it while shopping it around to different houses. I managed to get some really great friends involved in this, and we're throwing a little party to raise some money to get this done. Please come out and support your local arts, who knows I may even owe you an apology.

Acts included for the night:

Gavin Gardiner (of Wooden Sky)
http://www.myspace.com/thewoodensky

Joel Elliott (of Thin Lines)
http://www.myspace.com/joelelliott

Ben Somer
http://www.myspace.com/bensomer

Matt Paxton
http://www.myspace.com/mattpaxton

Dan Delaplante (of Marble Index)
http://www.myspace.com/musicalaska

Kyle McEwan

Karmacul Change
http://www.myspace.com/karmaculchange



featuring poetry sets by Jenson Walters, and Marc Disaverio.

Oh, and I'll be doing a reading somewhere in the middle of all of that.
If you have any requests for poems you'd like to hear please feel free to check out my facebook notes, or my blog ( http://dearwomenimsorry.blogspot.com ) and then message me with you request and I'll do my very best to include your selection into my set.

Thank you, and I hope to see all of you out for this great night of folk music peppered by poetry.

Doors are 9 pm.
Cover is $8
Music starts at 9:30 pm.

Poster Design by The Billy Pozeg

Your fever.

Oh shush now it can't already be eleven thirty. You just laid down fetal your shivering body makes me weak in my shivering knees. The cat scratched in through the window with the breezes; the cat scratched a fever right into me. I asked whoever was watching us if one of those nine lives could make you breathe. I asked whoever was watching us if there was one last miracle set aside for me.

Our shack cracked wide open like a coffin every time you allowed yourself to let out a scream. The walls moved softly all around us and to calm you I steeped some whiskey with your tea. The landlords who lived and loved in this valley must have delivered you here to me. With fingers weak from the trembling I cooled a facecloth and held it your brow as you fell back asleep.

It took the sun to show we're never as lucky as we would ever have hoped to be. I prayed to God as the blinds were drawn all around me, may the dark let my voice carry up and through these old rafters with the ghosts we never managed to keep under wraps or under our blankets; their flapping wings and their high pitched shrieks.

We hoped that with winter's falling your temperature would drop through the degrees that caused all the snow down here to melt from off the branches of these naked trees. Could we break this fever? Would we get our dream? Would that God ever come down and intervene? Would he stay your execution? Would he leave you here alone with me?

A single waving hand.

a simple gesture, a

single waving hand,

come! come! come!

not inasmuch as we

had hoped "hallelujah!"

now holler back.

the frosted glass of

the patio door

the children etched

into with warm fingers.

the neon lights of

our abundant holiday

fade into the night sky

through the rearview mirror

it goes unnoticed

as all eyes are occupied

by a simple gesture, a

single waving hand.

Watch!

Watch! careful eyes compelled to be carefree

to bear witness;

to bear children's views on adult situations;

to not bear the burden of boredom

or to be blinded by the details;

the glistening engagement ring

finding its way down the drain.

Watch! behind your eyelids what exists

inside of a blink

the little vignette played out in front of you

that, like deja vu

seems to repeat confused;

the glistening engagement ring

finding its way down the drain.

Engaged to the idea of exploration

of making maps of ourselves

to never get lost along the way

to refrain from the poisons that made us

feel like ourselves even with

the glistening engagement ring

finding its way down the drain.

To have and have not.

To have and have not.

She sat cross-legged in the grasses, before a marsh, pulling the petals from a daisy whose
two remaining limbs outstretched like arms spread wide for a hug…
Did he love her or, more likely, did he love her not.

She spun the stem, envisioning it as she once was: a blooming ballerina caught up in a
sequence of perfect pirouettes.

The white blades spinning into a pinwheel propeller blur, lifting her off into what she
hoped was the furthest corners of his mind, if just there and not his mouth.

She could see her name, wet with spit, on his lips, laying under every word he rolled over
her, and she wanted to stay there.

Smiles in Mexico.

We managed to coast through the desert in the same way we'd been coasting through life. So we made it by the skin of our teeth. We watched the vultures float cutting through the sky that day like the serrated blade of a knife; circling their feast. We weren't sure where we were headed. I'm not sure we could remember where we'd been, but we knew where we were. We were in the pockets of those we were indebted. We were hiding from the possibility of being seen. We were not welcoming of new encounters. We stuck to the paths the border jumpers made; I guess we hoped that our "American dream" was in Mexico. So we confused the crowd of doubters who were surely waiting back in Omaha in the cool shade sipping bitter lemonade out of mason jars and trying to will us home. But they don't understand that sometimes you go so far that you simply can't turn around, or stay put, whatever. They have never felt the insides of a car, aimless, four wheels on the ground ready to get you, well wherever. The chain link fence couldn't have been anymore then fifteen feet tall and wasn't wrapped in the barbwire we were more than ready for. We walked along hoping to find a door and when we didn't see one at all we scaled the fence and hopped down to Mexico's dirt floor. And that catches you up, and that's where we are now. Please keep your mouth shut no one can find out that we're staying here to make it in our new home. I just hope they weren't right and we'll find our smiles in Mexico.

Some inopportune moment.

some inopportune moment--

a fly being shooed away from a broken window

by the flailing limbs of a black widow

whose web was wasted by the broken glass

at some inopportune moment

and so the fly got to pass.

This fuss.

The paper thin walls only veiled the sound of beaten hearts buried underground now and where they couldn't get up they ventured further down. It wasn't until after we missed them that we'd figured it out. The bruised, like birds, all move South with the wind at their backs and with wagging tongues in their mouths. They keep to the shore, afraid that they'll drown if they get caught in the wake and then carried out into the lake bottom feed with the trout; already dead what's this fuss all about?

Putty knife.

a rusted putty knife lays to waste

with the zebra mussels whose mouths agape

catch the discarded flies of the furrowed brow

before the bay where they were spat out

Make love.

I want to say I love you because I'm pretty sure I do but every time I part these lips the words never make it through. I assume you know based on how I act. I mean I worship where you walk; I kiss the floorboards as they crack and I listen when you talk. But that's not enough if you call it love there are concessions to be made. No, it's not enough if you want to call it love then surely you just obey. I delayed. I stuttered, stammered upon every word and you got caught up in the syllables you heard. That's the point and we know that now; it just took so long to figure out that words are just air that fills our mouths and it don't mean much to push them out. Love is in your hands. Love is how it felt. Love is under your hands and how you make love melt. Make love weak in the knees. Make love for the birds. Make love for the bees. Make love with everyone you meet as you pass them on the street. Make love with your smile, make your smile wide and wet and allow everyone you see to enter into it. Hold them with your tongue or push them through your teeth. I mean it's your love now it only started here with me. Now make it flourish and now watch it grow; witness this love blossom and sway to and fro... so long as fro is to your window ; so long as fro is to your door where you'll find me knocking with more love than before; where you'll find me giving birth to a love so sure that it shivers in the cross hairs even though it burns. Now I want to say I love because I'm pretty sure I do, and I suppose I would but they're just words and they won't do.

Grow golden.

Grow golden like her hair or like your ver-
y own nicotine stained teeth. Grow golden
in a way that makes sunflowers lean for
shaded areas away from the light

and away from our eyes; which now search for
gold in everything they see. Grow golden
like your early morning stream, the colour
of your dehydration. Grow golden and

polished you will shine and reflect each light
that comes in search of you. Grow as golden
as the lamp light or the fireflies who
frequent this forest. Grow golden, more gol-

den than your antiqued ancestors who lay
tarnished in tucked away drawers; preserved art-
ifacts of an aristocratic time.
Grow golden in amongst the brass horns that

play music inspired by your sheen. Grow
so golden you eclipse the sun, shadow-
ing its rays which dance off of you confused
and then return to the sky to be stars.

The joints.

We walked out into the park to smoke a joint just after dark when all the children were washing up for bed. Leave it to you to make a joke or two about some fool just passing through, a fool who seems to have it out for me. His yells and screams echoed through the streets like a telephone game for the thieves and fiends around here. The point got lost along the way he flailed his arms but never did say why he was standing there so bent out of shape. And in the shadows of those trees that lined the fence with their fallen leaves we could hear the tramping of their feet, couldn't we? With the smoke still thick inside my lungs I wondered what was yet to come and I stared over your shoulder watching for it. So it came to me as quite a surprise when I saw that look in your bloodshot eyes, that need or want to run and hide that comes with a will to survive I guess. The figures wandered out to the path through the damp evening grass and I watched them cooly as they passed at last. Maybe we're just too high I thought and I shouldn't have bought such grade 'a' pot but where would we find the fun in that. With paranoia at an all time high we walked briskly through the night, almost running to get inside where it was safe.

Automatic Entry #2.

I'm tired of the light blinding burning bright burning eyes leaving flash points on our retnas giving shadows more disguise. Staggered drunk out of young love the taste of naivety on my lips blood-clotted calloused cole sores call "Come here for a kiss." But not we, no we retreat, we wander home along safer streets avoiding holes where peddlers meet and greet. Don't you double dog dare do it you should know better than that. "Duh, I double dog dare you to do it. Don't you be no scaredy cat." Act on impulse now out of instinct, distinct tastes like those of failure, loss or mint. Go on taste alone all sight blurred blind by winter's snowy tint. Snow becomes sleet which will be rain and will raise Spring from Autumn's grave but that's all yet to come and so sleet still sleeps while snow remains like big black bears who hibernate to avoid ever having to miss the sun. They say they're dumb but that sounds pretty smart to hunt a hollow to halt your heart beat down to next to nil. You can try and I just might, but we'll wait 'til dark of night to plunder a pretty pumpkin pie from off the window sill. In front of the fireplace where love was made more times than I could explain we were caught red-handed on our way. So we'll probably starve that much is true, says "What's mine is mine, but I want yours too." Half of zero is still zero, so here.. "Have two." Take the west now that its been won empty your holster give up your gun erect your buildings eclipse the sun, go on ahead it's yours, have fun. But as for me, well I'm headed East with a pack on my back and two sore feet where I'll look for love if it'll look for me. My dreams they left me while I slept now that I have a chance to reflect they were probably always meant for someone else; not every puncture wound is meant to inject; not every temper meant to test; not every joke is meant in jest even if that's how it felt. Now I'd say goodnight but this is goodbye c'mon kiddo you gotta dry those eyes I'll see you the next time this world spins 'round. We wondered why we won't walk away those nights we fought and decided to stay I guess right now I need a change of pace or ground. I'll leave at night while you still sleep quiet as a mouse you won't hear a peep I'll make my way up the street and out of sight. I'll find the ghost I've been running from this road is long I'll need someone on my side.

I know a pretty girl

I know a pretty girl who sits on her floor listening to her records more she lures me outside her of her front door where I pace around on the floorboards.

I know a pretty girl who has no idea what to do. "I'll do anything you ask me to. I'm leaving this one up to you."

I know a pretty girl in the rest room and the steam has settled so I can get better view of her reflection in the mirror. You made me promise not to look but I broke that promise too.

I know a pretty girl who wears berets, but it might be a cap by now, it changes everyday. She wraps black denim around her skinny legs. I can't help but notice them as she walks away.

I know a pretty girl who collects tattoos and I sat cross-legged on her bed as she tried on her shoes."Do you like this pair too?" "Oh you know of course I do, everything looks good on you."

I know a pretty girl who once did ballet and you can see it now as she dances about the space with that smile plastered on her face.

I know a pretty girl who has the softest skin and I run my finger down her arm asking to be let in. "Not tonight." she said "I'm just not into it." and she stopped me there before I could begin.

I know a pretty girl who says she never sleeps; says it's not her fault it's the hours that she keeps. I bet I could cure her need for z's if she'd just settle now and lay down here with me.

I know a pretty girl I thought I knew before and as she ushers me out her front door I beg and plead to learn some more.

I know a pretty girl who doesn't seem to know how pretty she is and so she crinkles up her nose whenever I try to tell her that before I let her go "You're so fucking beautiful I thought you'd like to know."

Dear women.

Dear women,

These rehearsed murky words have been waiting to come clean; to pass between my lips or fingertips onto the screen. I know I've said this before, and you'll soon know what I mean, oh my dear women I'm sorry. Please forgive me.

I'm not sorry for the times when I said I would but did not call. No, I ain't sorry about that. I don't apologize at all. I'm not sorry I forgot your name when I passed you in the hall, and I'm not sorry I never turned around when you called out "Paul."

I'm not sorry for the nights I came home way too drunk to fuck and looking at my little dick I blamed it on your looks. I'm not sorry that your striptease never drew me from my books. I wouldn't say sorry then and even now I don't think I should.

I'm not sorry for the text I sent but meant for someone else. The one that read "She's too high-maintenance, she can spend tonight by herself." I'm not sorry that we had plans I put back on the shelf but we know you can be a bit much it was only for mental health.

I'm not sorry that it was fucking even though you called it making love under a veil of fornication to hide from Him above. I'm not sorry I took step back to avoid your awkward hug. I'm not sorry for any of this, or anything else that you'll dream up.

No, I'm sorry that we ever had to meet and now I know I should kept to myself when I passed you in the street. Yeah, I should have kept my eyes held firm upon my feet but you know me a little better know, and that doesn't sound like me.

Dear women,

I'm not sorry that you fell in love that was never my plan in the long run of this lifetime I'll be a lonely man. I've come to accept that we'll never see eye-to-eye; that I'm not a perfect man, and for that I apologize.

..by my side.

I awoke in a sweat, soaking wet and out of breath I rolled over to my left and found your chest. "I remember when" you said "you'd sleep so sound I'd fear you dead and in the morning when you'd raise your head I could sleep again." I never really knew all the things I'd put you through. If there was something I could do, know that I'd change a thing or two. You had these dreams for me, ones where you knew I would succeed and you were afraid I wouldn't need you by my side. I made a wish myself and I'm hoping that it helps. You can't be by yourself if you're by my side. So maybe you ought to lean on me sometimes I know it's weird but it's worth a try. If we fall we know we'll survive, you know this ain't our first time. We're familiar with that ride. But I swear something is new, it might be me, it's mostly you, and now there's nothing I won't do to get to you. But somethings never change and in this way I'm still the same I keep my affection of the page but you like it that way. I guess it's better if it's read because at least then you can pretend that you're not the reason I can't sleep; that you're not haunting all my dreams.

bluest bloods.

Once the blue bloods were bled dry and their spirits had returned to the night skies I sighed and thought "I'll be alright this time. Yeah, I'm gonna be just fine." I spun around and made my way through the bodies as they decayed like passed out drunks lost in the shade. They looked so peaceful as they laid so I got on my back and decided I'd stay. Now I see we're all the same no matter how much I may think I have changed. I guess I'm not unique, and it's not that strange to feel this way. I didn't make it through the night, what with the howling and the cold wind's bite. Those rotting men were an awful sight illuminated by the fire's light. The desert gets so cold you know and you slip in sand that sinks like snow. The North star shivered it's guidance home while my teeth chattered to it in Morse code. I'd never felt quite so alone as I did then. Through the dark until I found night's end just below where the sun began and showed me the love in life again. I hadn't been so relieved since God knows when.

Revisited.

I let your name move about inside my mouth for a minute this morning when I woke up. I swished, swirled and rinsed you around so the sweetness you hide in every syllable could linger. I want to give you the sort of permanence you've always sought after. I want to give you a home you know you can always return to. A fridge you can always raid, and a bed that remembers how you lay. Your side will be roped off with velvet and will remain as you leave it like a shrine to the skin cells you've shed there.

Automatic Entry 1

I was just lucky enough to check out two great shows this evening. Thanks to Brodie and crew from the Casbah for the Most serene Republic set, which segwayed delightfully into the awesome late night Junior boys set at Rokbar, thanks Ken. this was a great of music and inspiration, so I guess I'll lend my hand to an automatic poem, and we'll just have to see how it goes. All in all this night was awesome, and thanks to everyone involved, Dan and Conrad, everyone. Thanks for a blast. So here we go...

Watch the lights fade out like the sound should. There's something about dissonance that we just don't get here, oh please echo. Vibrate off the walls like hips vibrate off of thighs, no, not mine. Not this time ..right? I concur. So obscure like a literary reference made without recourse, but of course, I mean how else could you deliver it. You loved it as a kid, as if.. what if? What if this young love was enough to hold both of us up? What if we were strong enough to never need anyone else, yeah what..?

I love you in a way that means I don't care who loved you first. What's worse? It was me and I'm still paying for it. But I love you to death so I'll be here for this. Weighted, or just weighing me down, now I know. It might not be love but it's lovely, and I'll be right here for you if you'd ask me to, I just hope you don't need me to. I'm leaving here for you.

The song, the poem, the story. etc,.

I thought I might start keeping a regular blog so that the people who do follow my work can have some access to it. I'm not good with maintaining things but I'll try to update this two or three times a week but I make no promises. Here is a couple poems to get started, hopefully this goes a little better in later posts, but we are just meeting after all. These kind of things can be awkward sometimes, and this is one of them. Anyway, go on and read...

The song, the poem, the story.

I could have been your Dylan

if you could have remembered why you cared.

And I could have been your cummings

if your fingers found me there.

Oh, I could have been your Burroughs

if only the right mix had been made.

I just wanted to be your lover babe,

but my words never read that way.

You might have been my Sedgwick

if it wasn’t the other way around.

And you might have been my Parker

with your love scattered on the ground.

Oh, you might have been my Vollmer

if only I could have kept control.

I still wish I was your lover girl,

yeah, I still wish that was my role.

To bite my tongue.

I want to hold hands with you

so tight leaving no room for air

between our fingers,

like words against the back of your teeth

straining to get through.

Our words burn our lips

to a cracked crimson red,

our smiles left wind-cursed and warm.

Hand held, white knuckled

toward an optimistic future where,

as we could see it now,

nothing could go wrong.

I dream of having something new with you,

where we're never left alone with daisies,

no petals there to pull--

there would be no way to love the other "not".

So let me hold hands with you,

intertwine those fingers with mine

and I promise to bite my tongue.