The Banff Centre

The Banff Centre
(a journal)

My most uninspiring journal
Was also my worst physically
Of course

I knew it wasn’t going to work out
But I wanted the right name on the cover


I hate lines…..
Lines are a fucking institution
And my left hand wastes
At least an inch
Making every prose a shitty poem

She’s matte black
With the date in the upper right hand corner
And an ECO stamp in the lower right hand corner
She says “BANFF” in white (!)
And in red, “centre for arts and creativity”

But the fucking spine unwinds
Like it’s breaking up with me
It’s the first time we’ve met
Lost amongst the artist colonies
fuck you spine

and fuck you Banff
for congregating audiences
that clap for rock and roll
like it’s a birdie in golf

with their pineapple print
dead granny blouses French tucked
into their people free-ing skinny jeans
(like, for real?)



pick ideas like I pick at my skin
leave scars where my worry lives
distorted close ups turn life left
in the mirror

there are limits to lower lips
grasped in spotted teeth
pierced drips of frustration
tinted memories turned vignette

melt into your couch
drink to accessorize you
deserve it after a long week
on your screen that’s made your
weak bones relax to cartilage 

In her sleeves drowned
bees drift in freeze dried hair
Someday fear will come and
she will not die when it’s fair

When words fester 
chaos can be counted on
to show up dressed as grief
Curled beside sleepless nights

under your sleeping bagged eyes
uncomfortably restricted thoughts
toss stormy dreams against lashes

As she begins to absorb your passion
clarity and strength
emboldened in hilarity 
honoured to carry you
under her eyes
sleep well
wise friend.

The Model

When I made funny faces
and the boys laughed
at me naturally

I thought
they were laughing
with me for so long

When I thought
to show off my ballet skills
to help them understand

my saute they laughed
but I wasn’t making a face

I wasn’t normal
my brain still doesn’t
process what IS
in time with the world

then they told me to move
off the couch
told me I wasn’t worthy

when i bit back
they called me out
as a dog

and then they labeled
me The Model
for not knowing my place
in the backround

i tried to get smaller
but my mouth wouldn’t
listen she was so pissed
but I wasn’t ready yet

words came without confedence
so the bigger
the louder my mouth
became the smaller I felt

I’m still fighting this war
against my mouth
for talking before my body

and against my body
for thinking she should
be backround

and so
to breathe

On Funny

I am not funny
in the moment
when I try to be
I don’t write anything
my funny is accidental

I am too sensitive for funny
so I don’t hear my words
until they’re outside
my head

into your ears
laughter floats
into your mouth
bubbles of funny
pop out to surprise me

refections of your
laugh make me laugh
my funny is accidental