En direct de St. John's University, Jamaica, New York...

THE SMALRUS WEB SITE v. 7.0

Opus of Prince Arthur and St. Laurent, No. 03
Movement 1, ("September 20")

it's saturday night and im here without you again
a psychic wanders the street, a dollar for your questions
and I wonder why he's wandering the streets
if he can't see his own future, how will he see mine?
what about the firedancer, amassing a crowd
she hula hoops a ring of fire
and the passersby stare
with her grace, she manages not to burn herself
like a ballerina
the ants scurry in spurts
some on one corner, some on another
all go in different directions
but end up in the same place
limousines roll down, but they carry no one important
hummers noisify the block but the people inside will never leave the city
some ants take respite from the work,
pulling up tables and chairs at the 24 hour coffee shop
french, english, arabic, une melange extraordinaire
a police car sits across one corner, waiting for trouble
but the only thing flocking to these corners
are girls, lots of them, beautiful
dressed to the nines,
but none of them hold a candle to your light
not even the firedancers.

in the sip of my orangina
two couples make their home at the table in front of me
the psychic makes his prediction
while a trendsetting young blackman's dreadlocks match those of his girlfriend's
i think of the talk we had earlier in the day
how tempting the girls at the cashier are,
dancing to the repetative one-twos
but their shallowness will never cut it for me
couples
couples
they're going on dates from club to club, bar to bar
she wears a mcgill hoodie, he wears a fake curious george shirt
the ants mass without queen
cluster here, cluster there
escalade limousine but a no name appears
ferraris, porsches
people who've got money and want to show it
1144pm

and im thinking of you
and the fire dancer
i cant see across the sea of people
as i stare in the plateglass window at my reflection
and i hope that ill see you through the glass
in ten minutes they're gone
in a half hour, no one's left this corner
bikers pop wheelies
a pack of girls ready to go out and get picked up
an hour later, the psychic's still out there
swinging his pendant, your question for a dollar
i should only be able to ask him about us
is it real or am i just jaded by my love

the crowd is there but diminished
they're probably all in the clubs having the times of their lives
but me I worry about you
Tokyo, Saphir, Lucifer...
chic yuppie places, as they say in french
BCBG
But that's not you
No 75 dollar shirt that you buy for five dollars at a t-shirt shop
"Best ass" contest- 5000$ at club millenium
Yours worth more than a million dollars
115 and the bums are counting their change

people petering out of the corner
the psychic was still there
some high priced functionary without a job is willing to slip a 20 to know about his girlfriend
mass exodus come 3am and the corner is alive
pizza and shish taouks for some
expensive drinks and cheap eats
the next day's cleanup never saw
fewer ants than before
the newspaper reading ants, the business ants, and the 120 dollar torn-sweatshirt ants
all these make me yearn for my ant
the sun-dried little man, the hideous woman whose misshapen figure causes all the guys to shutter
she rolls her shirt under her bustline but it makes things worse

And yet, this corner-
    this coffee shop, these banks, the restaurants and
    the ants-
makes my pen bleed for you...