On the present.
Letter grades dangle
looming over angles
in an algebra class
I'm failing.
Listing the tests
I've thrown away
I run out of breath
and time in the day.
Trying to convince my mother
of how sick I really am
the only cure is sleep
its the only way I can
be free
What a burden, what a load
made small
With the prospect, of the not so distant future.

On Montreal.
An Idea, a thought
a suggestion my heart is running on
Please, if there is a god
I'll again see snow on my front lawn
one whole year, so much has changed
but you've stayed the same
just as warm, welcoming, and wonderful
as I remembered last May.
June was a blur, anger and tears destoryed my vision
I ran away to Verdun, but returned
to that long truck again.
My resistence
Her eyes' brillance
As I spent the day in her basement

On New York.
Street vendors, persistent leaders, jesus lovers, as a helicopter hovers;
over head, underground, laughing eyes as I dance around.
Lennon's garden, avant-garding, a zoologist,
and Frank sinatra-
All owe me money.
it was a good pretzel though.

On Arriving.
What do I have, but these strings
but these pages, but this screen
what do I have, but these things

I have nothing, but these strings
but these pages, but this screen
I have nothing, but these things

On being abandoned.
How much can be put on me
when all I needed was an explanation for to read,
you were immature, as was I
but I guess I'm whipped, because though I nearly died
I still need you
and say I love you
when you're the one
who crawled back
but you be proud
you won, turned my heart blue
you should be so lucky,
I don't forget you so easily too.