It all started with a glimpse through the single lamp on the Atlantic side.  Under the stillness of Altair, Mira, Sadr; above the Silence of the Lambs.

Woke up and slept with the same buzz; with the same initial typed at the end of each heart-rending note. Detested by those dreadful musty karaoke rooms, she rarely dared––with a shaky yet sensual voice––to sing along with Gloria’s ‘I Will Survive’; the glorious Gloria.

I read her lips every single time in slow motion:

And so you’re back

From

outer 

space…

I never pitied her, but I did the ones who pitied her.

-s

Toronto, January 2023

He was sitting on the park bench up the Embankment, holding the goldfish bowl he had picked from the market. Full of the miseries of his own failures, which he had been carrying for the past fifty-odd days. His throat was sore. His heart too.

Sipping on her bottle of cheap sherry, the woman gave him a look and whispered a few words: sulfur, wings, warm, warmth. 

The moon was a thin vertical arc that night. It was fucking splendid.

-s
Toronto, January 2023

Dead clock turns to parts;
Anguished faces,
Leering at smashed mirrors.

I think of time, ticking;
And the core, pounding.
And you; are you embarrassed?

There is never, never a word.

-s

Toronto, January 2023

Bus 56

She was untangling her dreadlocks with her tiny fingers before riding Bus 56.  Last night, she threw up all her desires and glitters in the hazy solace of the corner. 

River Lee was her final destination.  

-s

Toronto, January 2023

La vie

Dreams; lack of dreams. Outrageous dreams. Sumptuous ones.

Tears; streaming down her cheeks just like A’s.

Lights; in layers.  Never coloured.  Back in days.

Time; self reproach. Melancholy chorus. Past tense.

Life.  Life.  Life.

-s 

Toronto, December 2023 

The shape of memories; are they aspirational or are they based on true tales of your most shameful thoughts?

To me, they were melodies of pitch black corridors and polka dotted papillons.

How did I know the melting days of the seventh month and how did they know me back? Did they or did I belong to anybody in that world of swirl? 

Flame has always been with me; and I regret nothing.

-s

Toronto, December 2022

I asked the woman, the eldest of six and with a pleated tartan skirt, if that dawn was a refuge for her.

The woman looked into her cup, closed her eyes, and walked away.

-s

Toronto, November 2022

Untitled

The moon was full;
imperfect.
In movement
on an empty trail.
Orange lights,
amassed in confinement.
Outside the window,
there was panic
and unsung stars;
there were bogus revellers
in their rolled-up tanks.
The mess of the midnight;
the sound of the bonfires;
the graceless jokes;
the despised love-making.
Solely noise.

The moon was full;
in purple.

-S

Toronto, Nov. 15, 2020