A Sonnet for the eternal her of Montréal (take eight)

False Muse by name of Siren I call you

Through the burning night they’re drinking

My soul, my self, my spirit’s talent true

Ah Muse, to the Siren’s song I’m sinking

And yet, cooly, you stand apart from this

On my behalf you will not interevene

Your sway and powers, for me, run amiss

I wonder how you did cut me so clean

With your sweet touch I rose above the rest

Now in my woe blackness plunged you delight

Filled with your energy you loved me best

In dark solitudes you showed me your light

Was nothing more than a wet match burning

Confusion; no more than a trick of yearning

pocket paper moments: thoughts on the move

-Kisses are as unique as the language they are from.
- Rollcals: locals that smoke.
- “Don’t pander to mediocrity.”
- Looking at the young woman’s eyelashes from one seat behind, and one over, all I can think is wow they are so long; could it be a trompe d’oeil? Hahaha.
- “…because it’s mine.” “Do you know why the Chinese don’t use this finger?” He asked showing her his pinkie. “No. Why?” she replied.
…
- Fringe Play: Nugless performed like a radio play.
- The Lily
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
Wm. Blake
- Cold. And what I mean by that is… not warm… and what I mean by that is…
- Chateau I’mrich
- B. talking about how books when they 1st appeared were like movies, (Avatar), that they took, possesed, transported people to places outside of themselves. They had POWER. I am transported for exactly the same reasons.
- Loping, the server here lopes. I think at one pt. she was BIG and she still carries the weight in her mind/body motion.
- there is a fitness of mind & being here that allows for the possibility of balance. O how everything builds.
- O, to be among the humans again. I am happy… to be the pt. of trepidation.
- Words move, prepare and finally concrete the moment; well or not.
- a typewriter, O Erika, how can I balance life with the word? Hmm.
- “Here’s a tidbit of information to add to yr infinite knowledge bank.
“You’re an Ass!”
- Free, free, free. As light as a ray of sunshine. The great mother of light; the source. The Original. Blessed am I. Blessed am I.
- the uniform of the hip is never more creative than the lowest common denomintor ever. (ZING!)
- Another damn winter surprise! W/ a 1 million candle smile. I am warm warmed.
- Irony should be thrown like a left jab, smack, smack, smack… as a set up for the right hook.
- J.M.,
Yr Beauty is, and always has been, pure Klimt. (Actually better ‘cos of the dance you continuously do w/ yr humanity.) Man, you are the beautiful.
- Peeking into, peeping into, the smile of another. Well, that fills me w/ such a feeling of trespassing but trespassing w/ a purpose. O, how I love being a human being. (Piercing, always piercing, the sleep of reason!)
- Humour to the humourless is, well… I can’t even imagine.
- Flip Art poems & Haikus: YES! Technology-like.