On Cathedrals that Crack

On cathedrals that crack

I’m stuck making love to the same mistakes
Playing back memories in stillness.

Watching cathedrals crack themselves until the prayers bleed out and the city that never sleeps
Watches these beliefs come out eyes wide and motionless,
pope-less caught in the glory of a day-dream.

They stare, seeing the shades of purple magic and velvet abracadabra crucified into the crumble of concrete. Despite it all, believe their gods still stand complete.

In awe from seeing the foundations of their thoughts float from religious to rigid to

This city goes on, moving and unchanged.
Even though now its people seemingly unscathed walk with a mouth full of mud.
Even though now its people seemingly bathed walk with a stomach sunk with dirt.

My mouth used to pray out I love yous like it was holy.
The light that used to fill my belly, I now understand light may feel like glory but it is just as airless as foodlessness.
Hunger masked by fullness.
Mud replaced with the revelry of rescue.
My heartbreak hurts like this empty was just waiting to show its face.
This cathedral was waiting to crack, for its empty, but I still watch it dissipate in disbelief.
My belief in our I-love-yous are stronger than the structures falling down in front of me.

I want to mourn you
As deep as I loved you

But first I have to walk in a old city with new bones full of broke
Glass under my toes
Reminders of this rigid religiousness wherever my pupils go
On my cell-phone, my facebook, stanley park or bumble bees
It all just looks like forgotten forests of mercy turned factory far away
An imagined fullness that was always clay and blood
In my stomach and in my mouth
This relentless loneliness
Misses the rhinestones of your body and your humour
And the days we chased obstacle courses and raced crossword puzzles
Having a baby stuffed sloth at the bookstore and teaching him the bible

Of our beautiful make believe, how colorful and contagious, how loud and holy, how hollow and hurt, how skin, how flesh, how mud, how stop sign, how traffic cone, how handshake, how Simon, keep moving as it all crumbles

How it comes out from under you like this magic was meant to be momentary but even knowing this,
It all still feels meaningless.
How keep walking and don’t think
How walk and don’t remember the street corner, the kissing, the cackles
How these shackles pray that a fictional place will rebirth itself one day
Even though the city looks exactly the same
And it is only my mouth and stomach that have changed
The city has cracked like it splits into soliloquies that only I hear
To smile
With a mouth full of techno betrayal
And cut throat gospel collapsing
You and I go back to dust for Mars
The notebook writes itself
The love undos itself
The sex wraps itself back up
The jazz and the rap sinks back into your iPhone
I am stuck making love to memories of mistakes
In a cityscape that feels imaginary
Yet bleeding and bare
All at once


I’m at an intersection now
Watching the traffic light at 3:30 am
Though our bodies stopped being each others make believe
And I do not wish cathedrals to uncrack themselves
I still in this moment wish for a
Flicker for a switch off
While the whole city sleeps and I stay awake
So I can watch the prayers of our love bleed out
In stillness
In awe

Sometimes I can hear a sound, like a car honking ten streets down
And despite it all, I hope it is you awake
Saying my name to yourself like a whisper

Spoken Word Poem: TIME GOD

Sorry for bombarding you with the same poem, but I made a nice little lyric video with clocks and things.
This doesn’t have to necessarily have to be a desperate relationship with time, but sometimes I feel like the clock, the days, the hours are my enemy. And no matter how hard I try, I will always be inferior and will always have to oblige to time.
The world comes down to two things: Time and timing.
But this poem is mainly about the desperation ❤ Thanks for listening.