By Phlip Arima
Phlip Arima is considered one of Toronto's most well-liked functionality poets. during this moment number of poetry, Arima takes to the road to create his photographs of the misplaced, the dispossessed and the dissatisfied. Edgy, but deeply compassionate, Arima's poems catch the gritty city fact of the homeless and the mad, in determined distinction to the straightforward slogans of T.V. ads and shop window screens. His query is still, "What occurred to lead them to this way?" on the middle of this robust assortment is a longer poem, '09-06-96, Eulogy for Chris', a bittersweet memoir of a chum and lover, jam-packed with grief and anger at her loss. yet there were different suicides, different deaths -- from AIDS, from medications, and from sheer loneliness. Powered by way of an inner rhythm as powerful because the human center beat, Arima's poems are filled with photos of the streets and of chilly urban nights, relived purely sometimes by means of a young second of affection.
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57 — "it's eleven o'clock, do you know where your parents are? " then she would fix her lunch and put herself to bed she told me she said that to the room when she was fourteen years old she told me they told her — be back by eleven or don't come home two years later, nearing nineteen, she learned they did not mean what they had said "pay the extra forty, i'm really bad at head" later she was proud of more than her ability to fuck she would be there for others no matter what but never got the hang of letting them close it was as if she lived behind a two-way mirror and you only knew she was there by her laughter not her tears -58- oh, baby...
Then she would fix her lunch and put herself to bed she told me she said that to the room when she was fourteen years old she told me they told her — be back by eleven or don't come home two years later, nearing nineteen, she learned they did not mean what they had said "pay the extra forty, i'm really bad at head" later she was proud of more than her ability to fuck she would be there for others no matter what but never got the hang of letting them close it was as if she lived behind a two-way mirror and you only knew she was there by her laughter not her tears -58- oh, baby...
5i — 09-06-96 Eulogy For Chris She did not fear death she hated him every time a dream hit the dirt no matter how hard she worked when friendship would end because she could not let you in as she had a drink to take the edge off and the next one and the next one called at that moment of disappointment before the pin went in she hated him is it over yes... a scene in the late-night movie a syringe to a vein the plunger pulled back the blood injection .. m. no matter how angry, we never hit each other that was rule number one and explains the cracked walls in our first apartment my old leather jacket too big for you your thigh-high boots and helmet in hand you looked so cool-cute waiting for me "boys and their toys" "good boy" i could always hear the affection hidden in your sarcasm remember the camp-out in new york and walking through the mud singing "i'm sticking with you" i didn't like it when you drank i liked it less that i knew i could not stop you — 54 — when i'd read you to sleep with winnie-the-pooh curled up holding your stuffed animal, boo you looked so innocent and in peace you survived the streets built a home for yourself understood what it meant to have respect i didn't know how to play when i met you couldn't trust too well either you taught me a lot i loved you still do the funeral processions that pass on the street, news stories of tragic loss, demonstrative statistics, local gossip, songs about all the people who died died out on a mainline did not prepare me, ease the angst of your life disappearing with a needle by your bed.
Damaged by Phlip Arima