my thunder in the sunlight~

“I’m sorry for always apologizing.”
says the writer to the friend,
but I’m starting to realize a few things
like waking up to a job that I hate
to make money that I need
because society requires that
we wake up, get to work on time,
get a car, find a perfect mate,
enjoy lavish things that
we can’t take with us
when we ultimately die,
no one wants to talk about it,
but we all have it on our minds
like today is just safe
as long as tomorrow is secured
like if it rained and an ant hill
is torn from outside to inside
a tsunami won’t account
for the tears that they’ll cry
and baby ants will kiss their
mothers because even
ants must have some stories to tell
like my boot that will stomp
or my youthful ways
of using a magnifying glass
to burn a leaf,
I can burn a whole village down
and maybe not feel sorry,
curiosity killed the cat,
but it also gave way to it
“I’m sorry for always apologizing.”
says the man to the ants
we live in such a strange time
life moves too quickly,
you make money when
you’re young, and by
the time you’re old
you have all of the money
but you’re old and grey
with just a frail body
to understand
those wasted years
of chasing security
and material things
they can crumble just as quickly
as rain does to ant hills
or boots does to ant trails
and it’s such a silly thing
lighting my cigarette
is the ant’s sunlight
crying could be thunder
and tears could be a river
but what do I know
I’m still going to work tomorrow
—  ants and prose

I want the half smoked
Cigarettes, the tobacco rush
From ten years past.

The yellow glow of neon lit your face
In the Chinese food place
Down Spadina.

Your teeth claimed
Twelve reflections of me

& I did not drink more than
Was becoming of a gentleman this time.

Still, I don’t remember inviting you
Back to my apartment to talk above
The thunder of the subway line.

Waking up to sunlight felt good this time.
It’s been less than thirty hours of it this month

Except last night, when you managed to swallow
That light and keep it whole inside of you.

& do I recall something about dancing?
Us, two average Joes kicking dust

In the dark corner of the dive bar,
Smoothing the sheets of our faces
While the neon scattered everywhere.

—  Lorne Ryan, Two Joes Dancing Mid-January
my friend

this one’s for my friend
my friend who loves unconditionally
my friend who smiles at compliments
my friend who cares so compassionately it consumes her
my friend who never doubts “i love you’s”
my friend who sees the sunlight through the thunder
my friend who sees the righteous in the destructive
my friend who is pure and a whole.

this one’s for my friend
my friend who loves only when it’s returned
my friend who nods at compliments
my friend who cares for the centrepieces in their life
my friend who second guesses “i love you’s”
my friend who sees the thunder as the only truth
my friend who sees beauty in destruction
my friend who is used and torn

this one’s for my friend
my friend who struggles to love even themselves
my friend who hates compliments
my friend who tries to care at all
my friend who doesn’t believe in “i love you’s”
my friend who is thunder
my friend who is unconsciously destructive
my friend who is broken.
crushed by the truth
that the world is inhumane and unforgiving.

My friend who is and always has been loved even when they do not believe it or love themselves.