6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)


i can’t explain
i just wanted to cry
and you wanted a cigarette.
go then
that’s when tears started
it gave me shivers
my whole body moved
to riot
we laugh because they are funny.


later. the river looks so dark
and full.
leaping a little far into
from the rain
we talk about floods.
as the red light curls
with the gold
you’ve never seen it from this side.


only the water seems shiny
everything else has lost its luster
better when it wasn’t legal
better when it was free


i told you already that it was shit
i told you already that it was fine


once we’ve reached queen st
just on feet.
we close our eyes to the blaze
white light
right. this is a shopping mall
sliver woman with no vagina
advertises handbags
(i know cause i checked)
(you know cause i told you)
do the lights turn off?
do the manikins ever see the dark?
are they always bathed in white light
and does that make them angels
who is light like this for
at 3 in the morning.


at the last bar, they serve me
but you’re the only one complaining.
we drank Tanqueray when it wasn’t legal
we’ve got better tastes
i know.
i know.

6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)

lollipop lady

a thick arm or two leaned on and out of car door windows

and told her to purr like a kitten, so maybe she taught herself

the lollipop lady, sweet as anything, like ferry to the other side

keep your loose change in your shoes, she purrs like an engine

why lollipop? says short stuff on the kerbside one day, kicking

sour peaches. cause all of them are sweet i suppose, but maybe 

it’s the shape. short stuff picks up another, sour peach, hurls it

at the boy who stole her loose change, knocks him off of bike

down street rolling like her laughter out her belly. she laughs

like a sour old man and purrs for the lollipop lady. for a long time,

though it would get her, sweets, treats and sugar things. it doesn’t.

lollipop lady