192. sonneries de la STM

https://dcmontreal.wordpress.com/2017/06/20/montreal-to-allow-recognize-rear-bus-door-entry/

ding

ding

ding

light

green flashes in the

wintry dark lit

artificial by the

pasty

metro

lights

beep

beep

beep

go the sleeping

passengers

one by one

three by three

through the

turnstile

gates

March 21, 2020

Montréal, QC

191. Marius à Javert

hours & minutes

après minuit,

your call

dings

several times in my

barely lit

apartment

smiling in spite of myself –

I check and answer

other messages,

stalling before I answer yours

yet –

out of fear, and

excitement

the purple & white

square

glows sunset amidst

notifications

I check the little litany of

messages

once,

twice,

thrice -

still in

queenly

defiance

your photos

illuminate my screen

once more –

I imagine us together

by that twilit

lake, your

dark eyes smiling

into

mine

the first

touch of your

tender yet

strong

hand

hours –

minutes –

past midnight

I am ablaze and

afire with

pangs of new love?

infatuation?

or is it precisely

the mystery

that keeps us –

me –

enthralled?

is it simply

friendship you want?

my own crazed

heart spinning

imaginations and

prophetic

fantasies?

I think of at the love

my partner

and I

share

finally, a

deep and

trusting bond

safe and perhaps

not so

intoxicating

isn’t all love

a thrill at first?

perhaps I only seek

these virtual

sparks

which will always

dissipate

I muse on

love and

faith

in the darkness,

on options

and time seems

such a feeble

foe

to

intensity

buzz

buzz

goes my

phone in the

dark

beckoning,

taunting

innocent

conversation,

I tell

myself

April 24, 2020

Montréal, QC

165. Smokey Beijing

grey in the morning
smog,
streets awaking
bicycles;
cars thread through:
awake,
smoky Beijing!

misty in the veils of
time,
museums stand,
tall and Junoesque;
antiques are real when
awoken,
smokey Beijing;

earthy, cigarettes mutely
fume,
lazy streams glistening ‘twixt
Mandarin;
words entwining,
awakening,
smoky Beijing:

humming, miles away the
tourists,
globe’s collection in bright sun
visors,
parasols out and wide
awake,
smokey Beijing –

from the stolen sands of
time,
progress lays its youthful
tracks,
resting lay the timeless Dragon,
in depths and
at the core,
smokey Beijing.

158. BUBBLE

For whom?

do the
hollow shelves
wait

the dusky
archives and
yellowed
magazines
beckon –

The
ants still
mill about,
carts rolling,
volumes flitting
back
upon
shelves;

Frictionless
vacuums
where
children
play

algorithms and
formulae
[formulas?] and
conservation of
energy &
mass and
momentum;

acceleration,
inclined planes and
laws of
Newton:

Silence on the floor,
despite the
creaking of
cubicles,
clicking of
lights,
buzzing of
4-year-old
Sony
Vaios…

123. Derelict

Contained
in an impossible metallic oblong
trapped sounds
emanate

Rustling
gossiping
pens scribbling or
twirling around,
bored

eternities could not
sort through these
mysteries

they are static
at rest,
waiting

silence
is never truly
silent

Listening down the
empty line
of a half-
abandoned
phone –
podcasts, sitcoms,
pop songs
in the
foreground

There are sounds we will
never hear and
sounds we
always hear

static interferes

112. Miss Anonymous

Cold cement,
scaffolding and
C. Dior.

Passersby
race by quickly,
unamused:

plaintive eyes
penetrate air,
dazed and mute.

Straightened, teased;
chemicals and
strange shampoos:

Turquoise eyes;
nude lips and brows,
pallid skin.

Gawky limbs
rendered comely
instantly

Alien,
frozen, timeless,
pondering:

Stamped upon
cardboard billboards
ten feet long

here, beneath
the apartment
complexes.

Coming soon:
promises are
beckoning;

autumn leaves
swirl and simmer
recklessly.

108. Crickets in the Phone

I miss you,
how I miss you.

Even when there is
dead air
I can somehow hear,
echoing in the
silence:

scratches, noises,
murmuring
bouncing within the
landline.

I can almost picture you
standing at the other end,
not knowing what to say…

I could sit for hours,
pretending to have a
mute conversation
with nothing but
trapped electrons.
But I hang up;
whether it be telemarketers
or my mother
I will not pick up again
for you.

95. memento mori

Forgotten smiles float –
suspended in the ether of
cyberspace:

Messages lay unanswered,
comments rest unread;
unchecked remains the
latest “news”…

Mementos of a frozen life:
smiles collected from adventurous days,
when we were young and
boastful –

Farewell, adieu –
a virtual graveyard left
unattended;
vines grow unchecked,
obscuring what was,
and what remains,
eternally
immobile.