Parc Jeanne Mance

we daydream of dinosaurs
a time before the evolution of grass
we ponder the extents of earth's history
while lain in nightfall's gathering moisture
in this moment where stars should be
(more than struggling blisters in our peripheral)
you, me, and David Suzuki
(instead of ancient reptilian tyrants)
your upturned face bathed in streetlight
caught in the spirals on your forehead
the rugged and savage scruff on your chin
and the gentle furrow of your brow
"your peripheral vision..."
the back of your head pressed into the earth
dark curls pierced by a thousand green swords
"is stronger at night..."
hands folded softly on your chest
you lay, one leg crooked
revealing a pyramid in shadow
"so focus must be elsewhere..."
I was on my side, holding my head up with my hand
fingers entwined in strands of gold
one corner of my lips curled in a silent smile
"to kill the city, and see the stars."

slowly, you turned your head
your eyes sank into shadow
highlighted by stray rays from distant lamps
and you captured my breath
rendered me motionless
and locked me in time
"I wonder..."
eyes gazing inches from eyes
together, we dimmed the city lights
"how many beasts have copulated on this spot..."
but forgot to admire the stars.

Approaching September the Four (Late Post)

a refusal to submit
(I refuse the submissive stance)
to wild eyes and worry.
I am here
in flesh and glory
approaching a day of undeniable reverence
a landmark through existence's terrain
I am here.

Rip, Patch, Paste (Plate Tectonic Impression)

I gaze in confused wonder, as
I have no sense of modern style
I hear a million breathing bodies pass beneath my balcony
they epitomize the very image I have a lack of taste buds to percept
is this really my world?
how am I here, a separate circulatory system,
in this city in constant celebration
I am soberly negligent beyond an addict's absentmindedness
yet I will never accept forgiveness

no wonder I have relaxed into certain obscurity
and the mere thought of affiliation commences an anxious shudder
I am merely an insignificant wire sending electric currents along
in society's engine
filling in the holes and gaps
a good functioning member of modern civilization...
just not the most stylish, or
acceptably motivated.

what tragedies and treasures this city holds captive to its streets.
what loathing within it's lovers...
what love within it's loathed.
my steps fall on the same concrete slabs, stumble on the same stones,
the same pollutants stain my lungs... our lungs.
I know not what lingers and plagues their (un)perplexed minds,
I only know my own lethargic literature, escaping thick and sluggish,
a weight that flutters and hovers like a hummingbird,
yet sinks into the bedrock, impressed upon tectonic plates
awaiting the earth to quake...
my calm foundation to break, and
release the molten magic of soulful expression
through dead letters, row on row
in the graveyard of language.