I am (xx)

a mastered wreck
scarred with the ink of my impulse.

a masterpiece
carved by an artist in full convulsion.

a whisper
swiftly torn from your broken
lips.

a night filled with deep regret
and much holy water.

I am (xx)

I have yet to go through a day of work and not get stung by a bee. Today was no exception, I thought that maybe I had done it when 5:30 came around and I was cleaning off my feet getting ready to go home. but, alas, a single bee managed to get caught up in my bangs and it stung me visciously on the forhead. I now have a lump the size of a toony over my left eye, thank god for the slice.

Long time no blog.
But I'm back in etobicoke soon so blog updates will likely be more frequent.

a little verse/poem i wrote recently is stuck in my head so i'll write it cause whatever...

little foxes

look at the little foxes in thier hole
they've got a lot to learn before they go
off on thier own

they've got to learn to hunt before they feed
and how to find exactly what they need
away from the streets
because that's not a safe place to be

little foxes
cut out boxes
wheres your number, son of wonder?
put your name here on the line
little foxes
cut out boxes
what's a number?
don't you wonder what it means to feel alive?

she never strays far from her pup
never lets him think that she's given up
or run out of luck

givin all the time and space to be free
not every fox will be made for a family
that's what i'm starting to see
in a land without loyalty

little foxes
cut out boxes
what's your number, son of wonder?
put your name here on the line
little foxes
cut out boxes
what are numbers?
don't you wonder what it means to feel alive?