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 2022 

…

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

Baby Blue

Everything’s waltzing within.

The ants and butterflies.  The wild deer and their hunters.

The baby blue gown and the black velvet bow tie.

Those long strings, sanding the ground.

And the thoughts of a never-lasting journey.

-s

Sept. 2018