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Dear Friend and their soon-to-be wife, There are two ways to fall in love: as men or boys. Most of my time with Friend has been entrenched in the second, a forgetful gibberish of spoiling beers, sloven dancing, abrupt laughter, philosophical chats disguised as handwaving, handwaving disguised as philosophical chats, and a crew of rousing, … Continue reading
Things have never been worse. It’s in the creakiness of the economy, the deflationary flop of your dollar, the way your pants no longer fit anymore. It’s in the sloppiness of the hasty mornings, the way they spill over like slush into the afternoon. It’s in the business meetings where you yawn audibly, in the … Continue reading
Sometimes I wonder why I am still in this city and I will see a pigeon with a wing broken and its bone sticking out and its wobbling into traffic and I rush to save it only to be greeted by a man from Bulgaria, a man with an accent like a muffler and a … Continue reading
You’re late. I know. Like really late. I know, I know. Like you wouldn’t belie- I get it. So you’re impatient now, too? No, I wasn’t trying to be it’s ju- I am impatient. Oh. No reason to be surprised, Kacper. Again, I get it. If you do, then we might as well get started, … Continue reading
some things do not stop at the end of the worldeven if the restaurants are bareand my fridge is empty too some small things live in between the puny pulselike the fact that i still love hereven if there is quiet in her deep, open heart noweven if the light slumps idle in my roomstuck … Continue reading
Dear dear, There are many promises we say to one another. When there is a pear being cut, you will always offer a piece to me. When I come to your house in a slight surprise to my busy self, I am armed with some small, hopeful snack or gift. When the morning sunlight rests … Continue reading
Dear dear, I have described your eyes, but have I seen their sight? Have I watched them watch, held what they’ve held? Once, yes. We were biking to the Montreal waters, to be soaked by the sun. A train was passing. Giant curves of fibreglass and metal from a windmill yet to be constructed trailed … Continue reading
Dear dear, Most of these letters are composed in the dark, one that is singular and shared between us. It smells of you, of a great, blistering absence. It whispers to me what it was to feel your femur in Montreal midnight and how the morning fumbled with your scapula today. The unicelled organism of … Continue reading
Dear dear, In nine months, I am happy to be the first to present to you a healthy, though squawking birth, a weird congratulation for the act of insemination of a thing that is meant to be more than a thing, a failed bird, a busted egg, an omelet if the bird-part sticks faster than … Continue reading
Dear dear, The rain is long and the night is short and I am somewhere in between missing you and remembering you and telling myself that one should never start with rain, especially when we began with a sleek, soaked summer at a bar where the drinks were overpriced and there were far too many … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 