Tuesday, November 28, 2006

twenty four to twenty seven

eastward sleeps an hours sunlight
the last time your feet won’t be sore
in three days
coasting in to central station
bland where train riders
in montreal
you wish for something
grand like arrival
plush red carpeted sound
like the champagne you keep cold
in an ice bag in your suitcase
with the broken wheel and the zines
a change of clothes
that afternoons wander thru the parc
la fontaine and on saints laurent
and dominique
portuguese chicken
the highway a lumberyard complete with totem pole
this is how you arrive
in outrement straight into the sun
a mirror against the wall
every angle refracts an ache
for something

you are distant here from you
and others thats a given
yield to traffic and jaywalk with the rest
rachel bakery and velorestaurant
coffee supposedly stronger than
an old couple having breakfast
he brings a large mug to the table
eggs benedict a days breakfast

the church basement
dogs running around
hip sayings on pins and slogans
you gawked at more than thirty
years ago
maybe you time traveled on the train
someone slips pyschodelia in your water
because this is a throwback
to something you never were part of
and all this time you thought
you were moving forward

old montreal champ de mars
stained glass rainbow sixties
a guy sings at the harp sign
off key
homeless in the tunnel covered
in white threadbare blankets and
garbage bags
down the street from chateau ramzay
where the history is preserved better

boutique hotels where old banks used
to be film crews where boutique
hotels used to be
theyre tearing down this old city
theres a good view of the port
with no ships waiting to dock

venetian slats slip light over you
sleep early sound of sitcoms blues
effective tonic more than gin
there are no cats on this street
just dogs and old men who hear
voices on mont-royal and shoe stores
and accents like bedding not language
you accessorize

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