Lament To The Great Canadian Night

Lament To The Great Canadian Night

Sitting on the gray
cold steps of the
cities grand art-house,
a gray day of soft vivid
clouds that shelter the sky
with a cave dark gloomy
Autumn's outstretched yawn,
I sit transfixed with a
mad-mans glare,
mad with love and anger,
lost in a vast sea of
confused emotions,
and love,
love for this cities beating
heart and great mellow
breathing lungs of hospitality,
and while a high tide drowns
my love with a deep ocean
of dark reality,
the time has come to
leave my womb to venture
south to the blue-eyed sky's
of the California coast.

I watch in bloom the scurrying
of the cities flowers of youth,
dwellers of the great
concrete garden of the north,
bustling like the leaves of fall,
tragic motion in the bitterness
of the wind and I watch
drunk with love and content,
intoxicated with a cities
injection of liquid anxiety,
watching the rhythm
of the passerbys as they
move in an universal
soul searching dance,
unbeknown-st of my love
for their swing dancing bones,
and I sit and smile in a
deep pondering notion
beneath the frown of the
melancholy gray clouds,
and in the chill of Autumn's
breath I close my eyes,
lay back on the sharp stabbing
steps and wait for the arrival
of the great Canadian night.

                                                        spb.