25

Where I lean

A mark is made

In the soft parts

A purple in-

dentation

You pour salt

On every thing

Knees are bending

Beneath the weight

Of you

And the things you've killed

Heavy in so many arms

Armies of witnesses

To the words 

You've poured it out

Soft and

All over the places where

You've marked with your boot's print

The hand,

The heart,

The throat

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when you take a shower

the water drips out the bottom of the bathtub onto greyblue tiles and into the middle of the floor.
it's not the middle of the space but the middle of the depth of the floor and the water goes down into the holes that surround the copper piping, and the holes allow the water to leak down into the basement laundry room.

all that dripping creates a dark dank place in the basement for a dark creature to live. it's never there when you're there. When you're down in the laundry room so terrifying you realize it's also right underneath your bedroom. so you try to hit the ceiling, jumping into the air when the tips of your toes don't work. yell up through the ceiling after hitting it to see who gets disturbed. it is your sister, up there. pushing furniture around on wooden floors.

back up in the bathroom there are waterfalls of toilet coming from the upstairs seeping down into the walls, and the wall fibers are bulging out in places so that the white paint starts sludging off down the sides of the walls creating shapes that look like snow drifts. in other areas the paint crackles like pottery glaze.

the man who cares for the apartment does not answer phone calls
the man who cares for the apartment is a very nice man who does not answer phone calls

the room with the shower is the destruction room

November

Whenever it seems like that might be a good one to try

There is a never a good one to try. 

One was good. Two is better.

Photo booth outtakes

The man's mouth is missing

The eye of the woman is on the side of the man's face 

The eyebrow of the man is where the eye should be

The nose of the woman is where the ear is 

One face is turned sideways and the other upside down 

The frame is filled with two turned backs

A lone and empty shoe sits in the centre.  

Beans

The woman presents the man with a lawyer's letter. The letter says this is how it's going to be. Deep inside the house. In the bottom of the house heavy boxes of books sigh under their own weight. And creak as the pages try to turn as the stories inside them try to get free. From the top of the built in bookshelves one book after another throws itself on the floor in despair saying what have we done. While an open notebook begins scribbling inside its own pages to document the breakdown of the union.

The man presents the woman with a handwritten letter that says this is not how it's going to be. I'll make it be the way I want it to be. 

Outside there is the sound of something creaking beyond the window or a crying. Inside the bed it is a good time to stop breathing to try to tell if the noise is really coming from outside the window or from inside your own body. From your mouth or from your nose. 

On the second floor many cats begin running back and forth chasing shadows and the feet or the imaginary feet of the man and the woman. Where they stand facing off and then pacing, off, back and forth on the linoleum, the puke colored linoleum etched with seven and eleven years of circle walking, trying to determine how to put this everything to its own miserable end. 

Halifax (this is old) (very old) (found in drafts. publish everything in drafts)

The streets are so familiar so far, the exact feel of home, where my parents live home. Cool and pleasant weather. Small town vibes abounding.

I buy bananas, peanut butter, yogurt, bread and beer. To burrow out a little space for me where I'm staying on a cute little street. 

Attractive haligonians wear their hair in little pony tails at the back. With tattoos and cut offs. And sparse facial hair. Adorable, adorable. 

The security guard at the liquor store asks for my ID then asks if I'm here for school blushing the whole time. And stepping back. 

There are Hospitals

There are hospitals

They want to take your blood right away when you are in the waiting room. They ask you to sit in a chair at the reception and start to unwind the rubber band thing to put around your arm and then you realize what is happening and say "no, I faint." "I need to lie down for needles," and this seems very whiny and inconvenient to you while you are saying it. But they take you to this little room off the main room and you walk past people with broken noses who are in handcuffs on gurneys with policemen and women around them, to get there.

If they're taking your blood maybe you have a disease. Have you given someone a disease? If you have they will have good reason to dislike you even more reason than they may have had before.

The nurse asks "don't you have a family doctor?" "Then what exactly is the emergency?"

The second nurse is so nice and you end up talking about your life in great detail, and your feelings and moods and every little thing. The way your jaw hurts to move it. You haven't been eating but when you leave you walk as far up university as you can to buy a soda and a double chocolate doughnut. The cab driver asks where you were educated. Where you are from. And the drive is very pleasant. You always say you've had a good day. Even on a day where there are hospitals you've had a good day. A bad day needs to be a very truly terrible one.