jo ianni

Lance, from the back of the room: Yeah, right.

Is forever

just something distracting you

in a field of mirrors

When I approach a small animal

& it hides or runs away 

I say to myself,

Don’t worry, I’m afraid of me too 

i   look

out   the window,

through   the slats

at   the purple plants

dancing with   the wind

worried

of my watching

i am

worried

of what

is watching

me

that worry

that it is watching

some other thing

worry

that is

lacing intention

where it isn’t

worry

that is following

this feeling

worried

is that ghost

at the end

i killed

a fly 

wandering

in my room 

i felt like

a horrible person 

cause i know 

i shouldn’t kill 

something 

wandering 

just cause it is 

wandering 

into the space 

i happen

to occupy 

but i did 

and

a moment passed

or two

between my arm hairs

there was a tickle 

I looked down 

and there 

this baby gnat 

wandering the terrain 

trying to find it’s footing 

so it could take flight 

i blew softly 

i wrote something

and, fuck i don’t know

maybe, I want

to share it and see

what other

people think about it

I guess

that makes me

fucking self-

centered, i don’t know

it’s driving me

crazy to think

about how I

occupy this place

between being

a person

and uh…

persona

thinking about you

thinking “this

guy over here

is really lost but

y’know i kinda like’em

so I guess

it’s okay”

when all I want

is for you

to read the fucking thing

may be you feel

something

it’s okay if

you don’t

but I’m too busy

asking myself

for like permission

or whatever

questions

that matter

or don’t matter

and, fuck

okay so,

i wrote something

just read it

and tell me

I write poems 

...and I hate them.

God, I hate them! 

I lay in my bed 

trying to ignore 

the rot I put in 

my stomach

Not antacids,

stomach acid,

corroding my guts 

and Voilá, l'esprit!

Help, 

seriously, to avoid 

those do-not-talk-about-me 

things aforementioned 

but this is the closest thing 

to a worthwhile poem I got, 

this feeling 

my stomach rot evokes 

so fucking real, 

you can’t believe it!

you can’t feel it 

like 

I feel it

Now 

I can fall asleep 

none of you knowing 

how it feels 

to write a shitty poem 

and wash it down 

with a bag of chips and salsa 

just so I could fall asleep 

feeling something 

before the dream, or lack thereof,

that’s about to follow 

me 

the junctures of mind

want to be at the inter-

                  section of an accident

4600 Steeles Avenue West stop request

with the help of excess speed

                   curb-stomped once by gravity

strange...

                   it feels like something is broken but it isn’t

before

                   once

feels like nothing’s broken 

Today I read about figures of speech,

Two black holes that ate each other, 

rippling the fabric of spacetime 

This catching You,

You writing in the light.

This catching You,

You lacking notice.

This catching You,

You're mine!

Before catching You,

this realization;

How tangled we already are.

This catching You,  not catching You at all. You already G-

Use the words

spirit or soul

& they laugh.

But transcend,

they hold on to transcend.

Hold like choking

any chance of this ever happening.

When we talk

of borders      of limits      of lines...

There,

foot planted firmly 

on your own neck, 

an uncommitted ouroboros,

Oh You, you are You

For You this longing from early morning

For You a soul is thirsty

A body pines for You

dry land worn without water

So this gaze on you in the sanctuary

seeing You strong and with a shine

For You love is better than life

These lips speak to You

So this blessing You all this life

A name lifts up these hands

A soul fills, a stomach at an all-You-can-eat

This mouth burps joy at You

In bed this remembering You

On You thinking persistently, all night

You’ve been helpful for this

In the shadow of You, wings, this singing

A soul clings to You

You, right-handed, holding this steady

creation creators create