our souls.

what happens to the soul
of an apple once it dies?
what happens to the soul
of a tree, the soul of an
ant, the soul of a bee?

what happens to a lego
house once taken apart?
where does the house
go? who can we ask?
who really knows? is it
the bricks that make a
house, or a house that
makes the bricks? is it
our body that makes us
move, or our souls that
make us tick?

how do we make sense
of what we’re told? how
do we make sense of
our very souls?


i remember yesterday
as if it were yesterday.
and the day before that
as if it were the day before yesterday.

but the moment i remember any day
before the day before yesterday
as if it were yesterday,
i forget the day
that was yesterday.


i have been waiting
for quite a while, but
those positive vibes
you said you’d send
never arrived.

those vibes aren’t alive,
and even if they did arrive,
they’d be dead on arrival.
far beyond repair,
far beyond revival.

i think sending vibes is
a feel good thing –
for the sender.
do me a favour then,
put them on some shelf.
keep your vibes to yourself.

maybe next time you
can send me something
useful, like a set
of disposable pens.


the fragrance of jasmine seeped
into my senses, jasmine molecules
through the vapour of this tea.
and it reminded me of the time
we found the tea. i remember it like
it was yesterday. the cool summer breeze
as we walked into kensington. or perhaps
it was scarborough town and a cool
winter breeze. the tea’s available everywhere
now, even walmart carries it.

but this cup, this vapour, this smell.
every cup of this tea will remind me
of you – every sip of it. well, not
every sip. that seems a bit much. but
certainly many sips. and probably not
every cup of tea. let’s be real here.
time will pass and my senses will be
distracted. who knows what they
will remember. who knows what they
will forget.

who knows where a memory may lead.

your eyes.

if i could take away
that glimmer from your
eyes for a moment
and show you your
life again. what moments
would you revise? what
steps would turn their
tide? would you leave
yourself some element of
surprise? some unspoken sign?
some cryptic advice? given
a chance, are we not
all revisionists? odd defective
perfectionists? trying to better
all that matters to
us at the time.
what would you do
if i took away that
glimmer from your eyes?

the love poem (we have all been waiting for)

tell me, my dear,
what has my love for you
done for you (lately)?

do you now shit and flush
rose buds down the commode?
the buds settling in the sewers
sending up rose scents
to passersby above?

tell me, my love,
about your eyes.
do you see any differently?
is your vision now 20/20?
has it turned spherical,
your astigmatic eye?

tell me about your
fear of heights,
your dizzy days,
your lazy nights.

tell me what you’ve
crossed off on your
list of dreams.