i’ll get a wink of sleep tonight, i hope
the rain pitter patters
while the cat dreams
and some tired crook
shoots fenty
veins dark like faint rivers
in the nighly northern woods
he can’t find the right one
so he bets on the skin as the
blue and
blue, and blue
moon rises overhead and its
everso everso
peaceful in the big smoke
toronto the good
hell, the building half ruptures
at its callin’
o city of corpses
o stony-dirty abode of my ancestors
in mt pleasant cemetery
roll on over
as we piss among
the tombs of a
dead, discarded age
poor ol’ willy mack
poor ol’ morley callaghan
the toronto star headlines a piece
but it hasnt had a hemingway
since hemingway
i down a glass
then another
then a benadryl
(wishing it was a benny)
to wipe my eyes clear of all
that paint
she wants me to come over
i
told
her
no can do
i know the stars are
somewhere out there
the red & gray needle casts its eye
what is murder to drugs
to being reduced
to the sack of flesh you are
we’re all so beautifully
forgotten here
sara never picks up the phone anymore
she wept without a clue
then noon it
bled to evening
she forgot & forgave
too soon
in care, she dared for meaning
as he put holes
in
all the walls
her fingers
prodded at their depth
immersed in
his plaster soul
she knew some good was left
soft greetings in night
(chancing at a feeling)
words cut away in flight
his act was gravely
p e e l i n g
a pretty cadaver
eyes to sky
her
nails
[packedtight]
with dirt
lips pursed in whispering
‘why?’
not a scratch nor sign
of hurt
the trains are worms crawlin through the veins of a dead city
i like to dingle and dangle
my feet off that overpass
on strachan ave
and pretend
i’m important to someone
living in liberty village
and before they get to say anything
(anything at all)
i leap down to the tracks below
(i’ve never done this but i want to so i might brag)
and as i commence my
downgoing
paramedics, police, firefighters
they alllllllll show up
and the crowds can’t be held back
cause they care, they all care
its then, i reappear
A-HA! i exclaim
i knew you all cared
so i didn’t jump
i am here, embrace me
(so they embrace me)
and its
much, much better than
suckin at this bottle
for one more
drip-drop
of a chance
Ó Faoláin is a 26-year-old with a bachelor of arts in philosophy from the University of Western Ontario (topically: the same university as Alice Munro, rip). He served in the Canadian Armed Forces as both a cavalry officer and then an infantry officer for six years. He bounced at several prominent bars in the Toronto area. He has not been writing for too long and has no publishing history aside from being shortlisted once by the Palette Poetry Magazine.
High Horse 