date night: fat lip



temple to temple

sex marks the spot

it’s just four small letters,

a microwave and a dog basket

shy from (real) love


there’s a mile-wide, shrill divide

the snag to post-marital bliss

in pretending we’re here (sometimes) and

pretending we don’t exist


so let’s bitch and eat crisps

and nourish this flaccid guilt

together, for the kids

date night: door



I don’t even get to say

That I swing both ways,

Because she won’t even look at me.

But this is par for the course,

Head off at ninety,

Peeling labels off sauce,

Amassing salt,

I’ve seen it all before.


What was it she said?

Transparent? One-sided?

A pushover? Unhinged?

As critique, it’s technically weak,

As I have two sides, at least

And four hinges, at the time of press,

And some kinder souls might allow that,

A glass heart ne’er did harm

To fair wench, lest a gentleman hold me ajar,

With his limbs outstretched

And wait and wait but remain unchecked.

And also, i might add, if I  may,

This coat’s fresh on today.


No exit, no fires, no names in lights,

Royal timber, hewn from evergreen block,

From chainsaw blade and sopping twine,

To brassy pushplates and a fat waiter’s behind

That is my jamb, my friends, that is my jamb.

And who goes on a date with a door?

Maybe this isn’t a date, more a fixture.

No, wait, this is a date.

I’m a fixture.

remote work

Network cables_2

copywriter required

six cents a word

proven track record

personal best

for hot-eye clickable content

for fresh young online pub

kicking out jams on

pool halls and tar pits

lyme disease and squash

penny whistles and two-bed lofts

caramel phagocytes and silkworm thought

turmeric-colored sweater vests and ambient chalk

the magnetic hills and first-look tomtom pranks

old-school broken necks and winter’s breathy chuckle

the fifteen percent of people who think in french

when they make fuck with their partners

in south-southeastern ontario

six cents a word

six cents a word

six cents a word



a curt delinquent glide

eyelids slide from side to side

hang; over builder’s yards

suburban sprawl, no sound

for a mouse is a mouse, after all