September poems 4.

The best place to be
is under the rain
prompted by love
and not idle words.
Waiting on you
is wearing me out
cliche upon cliche
of poetry for the masses
in and out
I go
trapped under the rain
my soft top
I feel everything
and suddenly
my cheeks are wet
half of it is rain
half of it is you
you come to visit me
through the sky
with your melodic messages
you never forget me
see me in the new and old
poems, songs, weather
ever changing my complex moods
that challenge yours
and you thought you were the only one
that woke up at this godamn hour

a free spirit like mine
dropping phones
willingly and unwillingly
letting go
then pulling me back in
without magnets
more indie music
get your mouth closer
as close as you can
this distant is killing my spirit.

One more day to my complete

Skipping meals sometimes is needed
staying drunk at oddest hours
in desperate places
thinking of bars
and rock stars.

Of course I call you to tell you that we still have a chance to see Gilby Clarke
and you are ready
but reality is not
and we eat in
how once upon a time
the world was
at our fingertips
talking to poets
staying up till dawn
I did it all with you
but sometimes that need
never leaves.

But I go now
to my city
my love.

Watch me
or not.

The rain has stopped.

September Poems 3.

When you are that close

I hold my breath.

I wanted to leave

a story full of poems

for your closed eyelids

my treasured gift for you

but you get so many of those

that another one gets lost in the maze.

I guess I could take so much more pain

than I ever thought possible

taking advice from a nineteen year old

while listening to Louis Armstrong

modern and ancient meet in my head

collide and inhale that rough voice

with the air

gasping and imagining

that hot sweaty jazz club

in Chicago

where we met

for the first time

during the solo.

Now all is forgotten

buried in tarnished boxes

but suddenly the scene switches

to the Modern fucking world

and Neko Case

is singing Furnace Room Lullaby

and I hide

away from that part in the song

that can destroy every part of me

easier than your words can ever do.

It is alright though

my books of poetry

will probably never get done

I will hold them adrift

through my apartment

where I’m not so high in the sky

but I could run up the stairs like a teenager

above the squirrels

hiding always hiding

but I hear them

as I hear you

in the silence.

Sometimes not even a beating heart is near me

only the heat on my face flushing me

from my mom’s chicken soup

with lots of lemon and egg whites

apparently it heals all, she says.

I’m beginning to believe in the healing of food

more than love.

September Poems 2.

It’s not that you don’t include me

I could care less

about that shit

it’s all in my internal fit

my purple party dress

is always on

ready to dance until dawn

and the insomnia means naught

for all we fought

was worth a penny.

You are always funny

a comic in a tragedy

a tragic figure in a romance

all of these parts of you

I can see

of course I can be free

to choose.

All I want are your words

to penetrate deep within me

and they resonate, they do, they see

the invisible girl in me.

I don’t mean to rhyme

I know it’s not a crime

dropping my skirt in a dime

ready for you


all the unknown parts

stepping on broken hearts

that lead me straight to you.

In the middle of the day on a two

minute break.

I’m floating in a human lake

feeling your presence

in the past tense.

I know I pushed you away

I know it’s all my fault

please never halt

for me.

The Montreal air is so cold

summer to winter in one day

duvet comforters

festivals are over

daybreak disappearing

students arising

and you and me

are writing

what else is there left to do?

Soon I’ll be so naked

you won’t even see my skin.

Or maybe you always have. 

September poems 1.

I am trying to sleep
really, I am
but thoughts and words
you’ve sent me
block my r.e.m. waves
I check on your love
like emails
does it even exist?
There is no pulse
so I sleep again
but nothing escapes
the iambic pentameter in my head
or the haiku, 5, 7,5
syllables, counting
and all I could think about
are juxtapositions
of words
that describe a kind of love
like ours
that exists in the air
through wires and sighs
unrelenting lies
sleepless states
locked up secrets
padlocks on unknown bridges
glimpses of me confuse
but I’d rather stay in bed
than confess to you
I want the sheets comfort
to erase the dark thoughts
of how I almost died
in no one’s arms
how horseshoes truly matter
and poems
can combust in mid-air.

I get to nothing
no finish line awaits
I am just another writer
or maybe not.

But I found you in this maze
and even when I let you go
I did not.
I could not.
I lied.

I think you look better with her
she’s softer around the edges
young, fresh
while I am too jaded
too fucking romantic
too old
too pretty
too witty.

Soon you will agree.

Back Table

Back table
bottle of something hot
between us
burning our lungs
setting our nerves on edge

Come closer, I don’t bite, you said.

But oh, how you lie
and how you do
on all the places
I want you too.

Feel my magnetic field
you walk right into me
I yield
fearless of getting burnt
opening up your arms
you want all my pain
for you understand
I can never be that tree
you thought I would be.

Your cool stance
blows my hair in the wind
in a temporal trance
smack in the middle of the sky
I fall weak to your words
with no wings to fly.

Convince me of anything
you know you can
you have the power to fling
the words like no other man
but you use it wisely
a pro
a bro
leaving my body undone
while on a paper and pen
where we write from
sentences mingle and bend
to each other
and make love
with ease in a silent breeze
they connect and detect
a truth.

Try to catch the fucking sun
forget about the moon
and its phases
we need the heat
to make everything complete
less complicated
as you magically trace my body
with pen strokes on your fingertips
then quickly replace them
with your rough lips
and eager hands grasp my hips.

All from the dark back table
nothing again
seems stable.

Watching Anna Karenina

When that empty breeze
brings upon memories
of how your kisses tasted so sweet
your arms around my neck
gently lifting me
the white love surrounding
us on the green grass
and how I bit your lip
in ecstasy
and teased you
until the fights turned
into mad sex
meeting lovers in corridors
behind screens
and how love stands alone
blocks cages and church icons
as anger is the new breed
of communication
while you look down my blouse
hard for me
wanting all of me
my insides filled with only you
if I could give you more of me
I would
but I am stuck
somewhere between who I was
and who I want to be
for I am on that unpredictable wave
forecast is fluctuating
my insides are tortured
with common folk
but your eyes
oh those fucking eyes
how they see through every piece
of me
that I toss and shed off
like my clothes

You can undress me
without a touch
love me
until we speak no more
of this
or silence me
with no words
that make me search for my own.

It is how you pursue me
without wanting to
battling yourself

It is the death of us that preoccupies my mind rather than the birth.
One can die from a broken heart
and princesses and princes
are not immune
to clutching their heart
in torment.
No one can truly

I watch your strong back
as I leave you
no other choice
but to say goodbye
to the woman you
kissed on that fall day
and who loved you
with all her breath.


My new cover for my book is out. Tell me what you think!
Thanks so much for all your support.
Book will be out in October.
Big virtual hugs from Montreal.


Soaked in the rain

When he blocks his ears
to the questions
and tells me nothing
I want to hear,
when he thinks his answers
are the only ones
that I may fear,
these are the times
the ocean calls,
right about Anne’s age,
the moment all my falls
are storming in on my rage.
Disclosing nothing
pleading the fifth
to your assumptions on my wings
floating above the waves
hiding it under the rocks and things
that will be meaningless one day
my kids will give parts of me
to the poor
while your letters burn inside my own door,
a ray
in the shadows
for you are mine
on land, sea, and water.
In every part of my soul
in which I falter.
I am yours
but time may change
the air
age may block your stare
but a soul
continues its journey
always beware.

For I am soaked at the park
in the rain
or maybe not
for the lies
should remain
the truths
equally mysterious
so do not ask me
when I write
or why
just stand way back
and watch me in my jeans
as I make a Greek cup of coffee
and all the rest
will never matter.
You will avoid my best
and cease to jest
as I cry on your shoulder
and you place my strand of hair behind my ear.

Bath time

The bath reveals secrets
in its playlist
and sound.
It can soothe me
distract the duties
as I examine unclean walls
no motivation to change you
or my reasons
for leaving you as distant
as you truly are.

The poor men that hush
I felt the tension
and ran upstairs
to my apartment
shut the door
so fast
my daughter saying
that was awkward Ma
I agreed.

They probably talked about
all the ways they’d like
to fuck me
but none of them
could look me in the eye
their eyes on every part of me
except my eyes.

No wonder I run
from whom I live with
and who wants my mindfuck.

And age means nothing
in the context
it never did.

And money is just an afterthought
because any restaurant will do
as long as I’m sitting across from you.

And cars are mere jewels
I can ride a bus.

And this Indie playlist
is fucking around with my head
as music tends to do.

And this calgon scrub
smells like vanilla
making my skin silky.

And floral is my scent.

The water is still warm.
My phone still in my hands.
The distant closer.

ten seconds

As you roar
bark, write, taunt
please the masses
years turn into decades
lines across the forehead
funerals become weddings.
In time,
you told me how you fell for me
in ten seconds
how you watched me walk
around the room
watched me dance
entered the dance floor
like a thief.
if I close my eyes
count to ten
I know how long you tried
and I was subtle
putty in your hands
entrapped in that aqua blue
taking off my shoes
ripping off my clothes
writing my number with black eyeliner
I had to have you
mostly because you tried
you came after me
you wanted me
I felt it
that desire alone
creates tulips in my spring
hence I wanted you
I fell into your arms
I want to remember this
and nothing else.
And these are the reasons
you have me
where you want me.

Mischa Selis

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