Thursday, March 09, 2006

P.K Paige

Rain punctuates
debates along the lines
of what is desperate
and what is reaching
in roots
and tendrils
towards humility?

Rain ruminates against my window
rasps against my thoughts
runs along the pavement
wonders if the grass can come out now
or if March is too soon for hope.

Bicycle tires spin along dark Victorian streets
of Richard Scary
Omni-directional streetlamps
and tree skeletons

Silent and creepy city streets
of delicious
as I fly towards
P.K. Paige and friends.
what more COULD I want
except vaulted 19th century libraries

and words
from English lips, like a reed
as I night dream
about making this library a home
a live-in loft
just for me
steeped in books and age

I am reminded of Montreal
and stringing together a
line of warm apartments
blessed with artists
and thinkers

her Montreal and mine

I am asked to live
and travel through
countries and my own
mind's make-up

A call to arms

Sitting here with the damp
the wet
in my bra
on my way out into the modern world
of doctor's appointments
and late internet bills

I pause and hear the words of an old
woman poet
living amongst artists
earning a living
falling in love
holding words in my heart

This is happiness
that I refuse to diminish

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