To The People I Wish I Knew

Meet me at the outfall. Meet me near public toilets.

Meet me at the park hotel washroom,

barge in and say hello. Say- hello, I’m

not supposed to be here; and you'll be forgiven.

Say- hey! You look ugly but just a little and

that’s forgiven. You’re a fucked up kid even when you

smile at me and that’s forgiven. You eat up a piece of your day

everyday, do you want that forgiven? Ask me. Say, 

Hello! What were you thinking? The river always outfaces the ocean 

right before emptying itself into the latter, and the river is never a rapist, not even 

when it rushes- Meet me at the outfall as a river and be swift. Break

my stance on love affairs. To all the people that I’ve seen listening to 

their music with a smile, listening to their mother with a smile, looking at 

the world with a smile, looking their feet with

a smile looking at their feet whistling JESUS F. CHRIST DON’T WHISTLE.

Don’t whistle at the FEET- it makes ME feel worthless, and THAT is 

the red ribbon you cut at the entrance. Walk in, draw a chair, draw a 

breath and inhale my delusions of you. Bit by bit- not all at once like a 

shocking fall in the stock market, or the hair-fall issues making me bald 

and insecure, all at once. When you exhale, help me write a gist

of the mist that is your sadness, your pride, your disease. Make me sigh

and let it not return to me.

Today, I started writing you a poem and it read:

I wish you knew me and vice versa.

I wish you knew me and vice versa.

I wish you knew me and vice versa,

vice versa vice versa.

Today, I looked up the rules of writing to you-

spell out only synonyms of love, misspell them.

Never say fuck. Say 'this is not important',

mislead them. Work out your puzzles before

laying them out for others. Never make yourself the

subject, use vice versa vice versa

vice versa. And I swim through the dictionary looking

for words that don’t remind me of you. But I get

topsail, and I am Ship with mine pointing in your

direction. I get Macadamia, the nut of an Australian

tree that one of you is swallowing as I try

excreting your face out of my brain. I get quadriplegia

and I’ve already let it grow into me, settle in cozily,

helplessness et al. None of my other inconsistencies help me

get over this shizz so I give up trying to cover up, and

tell myself- well, this too is forgiven. Today, I hope to catch you

at that pathetic little corner of the street staring at

the madwoman like I do when my sighs return

to me. To you with eyes like anecdotes and antidotes

to reality, with the trench across your cheek changing

depth as you speak- meet me without your armors. Meet

me with your kitschy secrets. With your collarbones bare,

your shoulders just the way they are. Meet me near

the ruins and sit by me, wondering where we were

when it happened.