dim green light
murks
from behind a heavy curtain

bright white moon
shines
pushing away clouds

purple light
seeps
in between black steal

lime green fish
sail
through aqua water

green lights
flash
circles in my mind space

blue and yellow
dots
pull out parts of the sky

(in the dream it is late March)
there's a light rain in Montréal & the sky
is a gorgeous, early-morning variety of slate grey. imagine the lid
of an old metal garbage-can.
everything is dismal, perfect. and quiet; even the people leaving the bars are silent.
dismally, perfectly, silent.

ghosts of old cats—belonging maybe to ghosts of old ladies who lived, say, just off St. Lau, back
in the eighties—ramble downhill, in the direction of rue St. Catherine (Saint Cat! O patron of felinity!) ,
between the legs of those spilling out from the trendy & shitty clubs.
some of the ghosts wander out into the street, flash thru car tires that would've (& have) (at one time)
smashed them to pulpy carpet on the asphalt.
(who goes to pick them up then? when the tires have had their way with them over & over?
when they are just hair & porridge by a sewage grate?)

after a greasy smoked-meat-on-rye or a nightcap at somebody's place, just off the drag,
i'm in a sodden, but warm overcoat, hands curled in the bottoms of it's pockets; mis-shapen mass
of hair plastered to my scalp; walking en bas de la montagne just past the McGill Medical Centre.
—this late, the busses back downtown are never on time.
(driver's probably having a few smokes before he starts that long tour down. full up of drunk kids,
taking one another back to their dorms, etc.)
(and what does he have, to look forward to at shift's end?
        i. a cranky wife—past her prime?
        ii. a buncha dogs—yapping for attention?
        iii. some fucking kid—who's disrespectful & won't shut up or turn his stupid fucking punk-rock down?

—it's enough to make me patiently wait.  i'll wait forever, as long as that isn't me.)

...'spose I'LL have a cigarette too. waiting
in the bus shelter on Ave. Des Pins looking down over the
football fields of the McGill Athletics Dept.
still lit up. no sun yet but
now at 4 AM a dull inch or two of lightened grey out there on the horizon.. dawn will come,

though i'd rather not face the day. all the mornings are so hard after nights like this.
bound to be hungover &
spend the day hiccuping in bed texting some girl; maybe get up
in the late afternoon t'fix coffee, toast & eggs.
sit on the balcony,
make my little guitar sigh,
and try to feel normal until i [have to] puke.

"—and who was that girl i spoke to for so long at St. Sulpice last night? how many gin-tonics did she let me buy myself, nattering on?.. probably too drunk to even get her number."
"—maybe Sean or Dylan will know if she came thru with anyone we knew.."

the bus is finally here. twenty-and-three minutes late. the back of it probably smells of
stale smoke, dim sun, and sweaty, rain-soaked cloth, absorbed from jackets into the seats—the eau du jour.
it's always a bump 'n jerk ride down the hill; bound to,
with the other handful of dumb & silent riders, drunkenly sway,
(or is it a natural compensation of the body, to groove along with the curves and stops?)
back & forth like carcasses of half-dozen slaughtered pigs
swinging on their hooks in back of a meat wagon..
(i'll end up getting on, but only for three blocks. i'll fucking walk the rest of the way home,
after that comparison. to hell with the rain.)

SIX MINUTES LATER:
(Avenue Des Pins still—4 blocks closer to downtown)

directly in line now with McGill campus via McTavish; this way i can
cruise down thru the silence of the main drag having a couple smokes drinking beer
(copped a 40 at a Dep before i left St. Lau—frosty under my arm enshrouded by brown paper.)
& be left to my own thoughts for fifteen minutes 'til i get to Sherbrooke
—i adore that fifteen-minute stretch down thru the jumble of
student associations, clubs, faculty offices, administration buildings, resources centres & the like;
all contained in the same red bricked, white trimmed victorian monster, multiplied threescore
on either side of the lane; all built in the early nineteen-hundreds, all acquired by the university in one of several expansion initiatives in a decade i won't bother to guess at, it doesn't matter. you don't care..

midway down the hill i stop and go sit on the verandah of one of the buildings,
the graduate studies in math offices —
cccrack that forty.
sit there with the sun JUST barely splitting the seam of the horizon feelin'
like the lyrics from a Sun Kil Moon song. nothing more or less.  
"off to a good start," says i.

Where were we when you quit the sound?
Caught in distance while you hung around
Encased inside of our own menial pursuit  
Flaunting desperation as a constant survival
As you battled death in your combat boots
There is no glory with fate as your rival

What were you seeing in your distorted mind?
As you ate your last words and ecstaticly dined
At the chemical festival of illusions' absorbtion
How far did your gaze stroll onto the other side?
did you meet with an end or the start of damnation?
In which lonely drawer do your dreams now reside?

Where have the remnants of life made their grave?
Are they in the lingering regret that you've paved?
Through each flash of your face and casket sight
The delusional rebirth of your presence revealing;
Fragments of ended realities giving spark to night
Burning sigils into visions of a broken feeling

Flame lit sketches etched across a charred eulogy
Only a name remains lying in the wake of a memory
Pieces scattered amongst an unfitting resting place
Conflicting beauties molding a divine contrast
A devil laid to rest in the midst of holy space
One shade of diversity on a bland earthly cast

Echoes of descension from this dimming black sky
Adorning each reflection with your hollow eyes
Complexions left searching for an answer to hold
As to how lifes' vigor can so swiftly fall to decay
And,The aging of dignity resembling every tale told
Seems to shine a reality check on this tragic play

A nulling backdrop for this cemetary playground
Where the kings and queens become tediously crowned
With a sickly ailment that reaks of dalipidation
The stench of the end atop an eternal retrospect
Glaring back with the most sincere of validations
That the fallen live on as our recollections resurect

It's funny to see how I change.
A stab in the dark.
A flash of pain.
What I am versus
who I was
rage inside me.

Who has won?

You are my lover,like a father--
But I will never be your wife
And I will never be your daughter.
I am the skeleton locked in the closet
While you sit together, Sunday brunch
With sweet smiles and shared laughs
Over sentiments I will never be part of.
Family man with a happy home,
Why are you unfulfilled?
Lay with her at night, but your
Thoughts are with me, and night-time
Dreams will bring our lust to your solemn bed.
You love her, I know, but
Where once floods of passion brought you
To embrace has turned into a slow and
Steady river, and visions flash in your mind
Of wandering between between soft, young
Thighs, where pleasure is welcomed
Longingly between smooth legs in
Black boots with stiletto heels.
One last moment of freedom, rebellion and
Youth before all has fleeted and
Feeble mind and feeble body receive
No coy flattery or passing glance.
You are just a man, it's true;
and all men fall to the right woman.

(5/20/13)

It is a lucky man who gets to hold her hand
As she takes you far beyond the Promised Land
She will take you on a trip that you’ve never been before
As she opens up every door.

She will take you through the doors of dreams
The doors of hope, and teach you how to cope.
She will let you peak in doors of anger, doors of fear
But will not allow you to get too near.

She will hold your hand tightly as she shows you the door
Of poverty, hunger, hate, so you can see before it’s too late.
As these doors look alike, this will leave you lost and confused
And in your lifetime, these same doors you will choose.

Although there are two doors which are different from all the rest
These two doors you will test.
One is decorated with hearts, rainbows, and butterflies
In this door true love lies.

This is the door where you may meet your soul mate
If you do not hesitate.
For love can come in a flash or slowly enter your soul
Leaving you happy, leaving you whole.
Erase all doubts – for love is there
If you open your heart and are willing to share.

The last door that you will see is a double door adorned with silver and gold
And the sounds of the most beautiful music of every instrument known to man
And beyond these doors “THERE HE STANDS”
Surrounded by angels with their pure white wings
Showing you the most precious gift anyone could bring.
                          “THE LOVE OF GOD”

His love so infinite, so pure, so white, which fills you
With the ultimate delight.
It is all the riches of the earth all rolled into one
For he is “GODS SON”.
He has been known by different names
But through Christianity the name “JESUS” reigns.

His love like the rains that come from the skies
Like the sun that blinds your eyes, and like the stars
That fills the universe, and the moon that brightens up the darkest night
All his love is in plain sight.

Now as I look down at her holding my hand, now is when I fully understand
He is with us from beginning to end – he is my GOD, my FATHER, and my FRIEND.
He is my strength when I am weak; he is the power that we seek.

So then!  WHO IS THIS WOMAN THAT IS HOLDING MY HAND?
And making me understand!
She is like any mother protecting her child
She is the mother of “JESUS” who has been with us for quite a while.

          Thank you “  MOTHER MARY”.

© L.RAMS