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

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Opus of Prince Arthur and St. Laurent, No. 03
Movement 2, ("October 18")

start it off with a giant inflatable dildo
being carried by a group of girls out for a night of debauchery
and Ms. High-Class complains her hot cider is too hot
1132 and i miss you
tonight was the Habs-Leafs game
reminded me of my first year when they came from Toronto
drink themselves silly at Peel Pub or
Club Supersexe
ragging about the french, wondering why the dislike
naturally this leads the inclination
that despite 3 degree weather,
drunks have no fear of being assholes
i miss that shit, i miss last week's conversation
about liquor and about

Life
passing me by on my reflecting Saturday
where have all the firedancers gone?
the psychic? did he forsee himself back on this corner or was it not in the cards?

another group of tight-jeaned girls leave the coffee shop
and i notice it's mostly girls of the sorts
that hang around
merely drawing attention to the fact that they don't want to be pieces of meat
and the "Best Ass" billboard is now Armani perfumes
i think of you, i think of Pear Glace and fruity shampoos
that i used last week
the cold has sent people inside
and the vapid Armani-ites pop in and out
a limo pulls up and I expect to know who's the star
like it's brad pitt or angelina jolie back to see us
alas, no,
it's quickly replaced by the armoured truck carrying money.
the ants' money.
some song i don't hear plays the radio and keeps the barristas busy watching more women
but it's blacked out in my headphones with a minor-keyed song
the ants form in clusters

and that girl I wanted to ask out two years ago
she walks in
she changed my life but she'll never know
You, I tell it to every day
that cluster is gone
but within minutes, a new one appears-
-this one looks like they've been roaming around the city, they wear colours that don't belong in this city.
behind them is a stream of cars because no one is walking as much in the cold.
ferraris, porsches, souped up, tricked out miatas or civics.
they all look the same though, big cars, tiny dicks.
or, they're in their taxis
if it was okay to never worry about money...

*FLASH*
a camera takes life as we want to be seen
happy and good times
for it was said that no one wants a picture of sad
maybe that's why it's been so long since i took any

i hear pounding bass
but it's rather monotonous
and her stockings are half fishnet, half full
and she grips the back of his coat to let everyone else know
he's got glamstar glasses
some fashion just loses common sense
take the bum who, earlier, walked in with a shaggy mullet and stained jeans
i bet he wasn't thinking about the money truck though
bald black guy walks in, gold earrings in each ear
and eyes another guy's girl,
like there's so many
but with his cell phone earpiece, he looks like a bouncer
maybe i could follow him back to his club,
but i would want you to be dancing with me
usually i don't go to clubs
goddamn that bass
but with You I welcome the invitation to sweat and sensuality.

i can't help but wonder about the winter months when the temperature is so cold out
the coffee line has died down
the tables and chairs are inside
we don't get to see leaves changing colours often
the ones that do though, they're magical
add another Armani SUV and billboard
and maybe we have our own type of automn.
you left and I wonder how you are, where you are and where you've been
where the masses have gone in one month.
last month's dynamic was the same and different, like this corner is all year
1235 into another Sunday and those who came to party
put on beer jackets
along with the aboriginal bum picking change off the street
and girls in halter tops shivering because they rejected one too many guys and have no one to walk home with them
there goes the October nightcap
-they just didnt realise this time
when the snow hits, so does the game
when will they learn, when will I learn?
that sometimes transition comes full circle like these seasons, and back to each other
like this corner-
    this coffee shop, these banks, the resturants and
    the ants-
make my pen bleed for you...