the ~ silly hear ~~t

Weave d the intaglioed entangld encounter ~

Damce with you
in yer hidden heart body

between yer fingers
een yer fingers


entangle d ~

long be d revisted and

In between ~ versions ~ 'each tragic is a hid. comedy.laugh. Laugh O Mask ~ ~

____________________________________________________________________________

'parently this happened ~

___________________________________________________________________________________

Political air among friends of the old-time musical dead, the lost law contained in tablets it’s rabid at the table, a rabbit, nothing up your sleeve, the ouiji board and other musical instruments, containing the Ur song of death Old Spanish monkey on the death chords, people go to polls pollarded by the axes of death the speculation game resumes who is your first

Minister what Minister of pray, highway and blight is your Northern tongue and I my brogues a broken stick forsake the highway. Returning from Paris, the outskirts, slum rises, slums of banlieue what was that rocket that went off? Christmas elections, Mother high erections for your convections, schizo eggs for your head, scissor boy Remember across the bed? the time you came over to read

poetry and it was then I said Oh this is what is the crystal ball of synergy? out the long lane looking years later saw you fat over-grown a pumpkin to your earlier beauty slim attractive as the sky become what some sad sandwich of death in your something blue uniform was that you the girl with the tom-tom cat and the blue ribboned cap and yer beep bop blues and your single stare blue in the eye the blues for Miss T. and yer lover’s slag your breast hung to my mouth ongoing and the night I was right out of it I stayed over it walright was that the night

was so drunk so drunk drunk drblacked out in the hole a spinning void wanting her so bad wanting her bad wanting kissing in the bar afterwards on Bethsheba balcony kissing her so bad so bad wanting bufter, in that after of 'always no to me never loved was a lie the spit of passion not love’s conve s a coward denying relaying So later whas not dnk later a year or so so later SAnn came to my apartment on Roy in the basement where I lived she came walking along

she wanted me to call her long distance
her love was
leaning to us
each day
hour

with me anda hard-on as we walked all the way we ate we spoke she was reading my book no, there was no book yet no book yet yet there was no book So made up for it when “made up for it” making “a pass” she was on my bed the same blanket e now and this was 5000 years ago pushed her a little catching her by surprise she said could feel my weight across her long body and she said O O Oh O And said am am and she O, not ready "for this," my hand was right near her breast aching for the shape and feel of it I wanted to, but she didn’t, didn't, she wasn't__, and I regretted this, thinking there was just that moment when her breast was so there so there it ‘d have consoled me later, knowing I’d felt her breast my hand grazing her breast would’ve warmed the cold night suppled my frozen hands thawed out my numb fingers fingers of leaf And later that day came saying her name

you came to my hands lover

nother’s who’d caused me pain so much it was my first pain in the new game the game of not being drunk being something else something wise sagacious and loaned was broken broken by the spitoon of it its graciousness pain pain graciousness in my mouth holding the steeple to God standing in my pain shooting right through right through shooting pain that pain the pain of bodies lovers got Later her long body took the pass up and she 'landed' on my bed No, we were not sculling teams but lovers on the long bed

______________________________________________________________________________

There no Proof Objection Reproof or Correction it Happened Again ~

One might suggest an Erring

errancy

Or
Errant

~

in this wa__________Y

moralisation in art. has no place. face. its them. that. imagine a self. disconnected. to others. that can work. its not so. ------------------------but ar t has nothing to do. to do. its nothing. nothing fringe. as heartfelt as the string.ing. yr. connecting to this wrangled weave. o r string fold weaved to woof between body.
he is here. between his leaves. there. he sit. in her wombhearting. we are connected to others. and the key is humbly accepting our vulnerabilities. our dada is our mama love to others.the others. who. fear. who pride. their bodies and loVe.heart. dada

was curtailed. by the denier. what was her heart but a spoon fed night to desire



_______________________________

was your mouth
tangled
round
the
sea?

___________________________________

Pan-Pan Clément Pansaers-

do you think the secret work of?
is it language ? yes it was ~

as it east. west. north. land of desire.
Or fire over her lip. holding

------------------------------------

The somewhat, but not really, forgottten, Belgian Dada poet Clement Pansaers ~

Pan-Pan au Cul du Nu Nègre published 1920

-----------------------------------------------by each work of poet : there areseveralname. ~

-------------------------------------- Call it a prose text of the poem glittering. gold. star.
wax to her pear. as . the language . translated by th e seven betrayal of translatering. and latering its trans. over diagonals of brain bird and gruel. its only word from over the Sea-Saw.

________________________________________________

Vero Hapax nel paesaggio dada l'opera di Clément Pansaers rimane oggi ancora di un'incisiva freschezza di spirito. Les mots sans rides

[e parole senza rughe] [1] potrebbero facilmente qualificare questo corpus a cui Dada deve molto ma che in compenso non ha affatto contratto dei debiti nei confronti di quest'ultimo.

The somewhat, but not really, forgottten, Belgian Dada poet Clement Pansaers ~

Pan-Pan au Cul du Nu Nègre published 1920

______________________ The Pan Pan of the Nude Negro's Arse....
___________________________

In un testo autobiografico oggi ancora inedito, Pansaers commenta la conseguenza del suo gesto: "Mia madre, bigotta totale [...] mi inviò presto la sua bolla di scomunica e divieto formale di non tornare più a casa Non fui più suo figlio e con ciò caddi nella vita come nel vuoto". Sei anni prima del suo matrimonio (nell'ottobre del 1907) con Marie Robbeets, Clément Pansaers trova un impiego alla 'Biblioteca' Reale del Belgio, a Bruxelles, un posto che occupa dal maggio del 1913 a settembre del 1914

____ O MIster Pan Pan got sick of hodgKIns diseassssssssssssssss
and died very young

so his Italian biographer tells us

Malgrado il suo cattivo stato di salute, Pansaers assiste nel febbraio del 1922 ad una riunione, organizzata alla Closerie des Lilas e opponente alcuni dadaisti parigini (Tzara, Satie, Cocteau, Man Ray) a André Breton. Le lettere di Pansaers al dottor Schuermans si moltiplicano. Pansaers sta terribilmente male, pensa al suicidio. Il 21 aprile, è ricoverato all'ospedale la Charité di Parigi. Picabia, Cocteau e Massot (quest'ultimo gli porta il suo studio De Mallarmé à 391) gli fanno visita al malato colpito da linfadenia aleucemica. Malgrado l'estrazione di un ganglio seguito da trattamento raditerapeutico, il male progredisce. Pansaers decederà il 31 ottobre 1922 all'età di trentasette anni.

____________________________________

O Mister Pan
Pan

YOu Died
before yer time
how timely un of you todisappear
before your bloom had heard its hard
rose
bloss ~

_____________________

DaDa OverBlog 100 ~

Revues et articles

- «Meeting pansaerien», édouard Jaguer, Phases, n° 1, 1954.
- Temps Mêlés. Parade pour Picabia /Pansaers, Verviers (Belgique), 1958.
- «Sur Clément Pansaers», Marcel Lecomte, Synthèse, n° 161, octobre 1959 et «Le Suspens», Mercure de France, 1971.
- Ça Ira !, collection complète (1920-1923), éditions Jacques Antoine, 1973.
- Résurrection, cahiers mensuels littéraires illustrés, collection complète, 1917-1918, éditions Jacques Antoine, 1974.- «L’éternel retour du pan-pan au cul» [L'eterno ritorno del pan-pan al culo], Rossano Rossi, Textyles, n° 8, novembre 1991, pp. 29-37.

Pan-Pan at the Negro Nude's Ass-by Clément Pansaers-translated by Michael Hays Sanchez

do you think the secret work of?
is it language ? yes it was.

as it east. west. north. land of desire.
Or fire over her lip. holding .

------------------------------------

The somewhat, but not really, forgottten, Belgian Dada poet Clement Pansaers ~

Pan-Pan au Cul du Nu Nègre published 1920

-----------------------------------------------by each work of poet : there areseveralname. ~

-------------------------------------- Call it a prose text of the poem glittering. gold. star.
wax to her pear. as . the language . translated by th e seven betrayal of translatering. and latering its trans. over diagonals of brain bird and gruel. its only word from over the Sea-Saw.

Evidence separates the exterior from the interior

The Aphorism is a soothing poultice: Life is an imaginary disease: struggling, pursuing happiness, the one heavier than air - the light one thrown to the wind: - This human, with one foot stuck in inertia and the other in speed - by his legs again, is dependent on the exterior and tributary. A glass bell equals the idea - tries to conserve force - cheese hangs over like a bell. The human is isomorphic: the extrinsic is deliquescent, the intrinsic efflorescent. A hack chemist is just as valuable as a philosopher - who, by distilling his words, discovers principles. The filigreed ozone - amorphous - business card of specialization. A digit replaces the confiscated ego; the name, honorably, dresses it up; the nude ego does not exist, in effect.
- Who, up there in the allotropic, wants to return to their essential value, burn their brains, conscientiously: in an endothermic decomposition, aiming, with no tragedy, as the second-person pronoun of a reflexive verb in personal mode would say: present.

Vero Hapax nel paesaggio dada, l'opera di Clément Pansaers rimane oggi ancora di un'incisiva freschezza di spirito. Les mots sans rides [e parole senza rughe] [1] potrebbero facilmente qualificare questo corpus a cui Dada deve molto ma che in compenso non ha affatto contratto dei debiti nei confronti di quest'ultimo.

The somewhat, but not really, forgottten, Belgian Dada poet Clement Pansaers ~

Pan-Pan au Cul du Nu Nègre published 1920

______________________ The Pan Pan of the Nude Negro's Arse....
___________________________

In un testo autobiografico oggi ancora inedito, Pansaers commenta la conseguenza del suo gesto: "Mia madre, bigotta totale [...] mi inviò presto la sua bolla di scomunica e divieto formale di non tornare più a casa. Non fui più suo figlio e con ciò caddi nella vita come nel vuoto". Sei anni prima del suo matrimonio (nell'ottobre del 1907) con Marie Robbeets, Clément Pansaers trova un impiego alla Biblioteca Reale del Belgio, a Bruxelles, un posto che occupa dal maggio del 1913 a settembre del 1914.

____ O MIster Pan Pan got sick of hodgKIns diseassssssssssssssss
and died very young

so his Italian biographer tells us

Malgrado il suo cattivo stato di salute, Pansaers assiste nel febbraio del 1922 ad una riunione, organizzata alla Closerie des Lilas e opponente alcuni dadaisti parigini (Tzara, Satie, Cocteau, Man Ray) a André Breton. Le lettere di Pansaers al dottor Schuermans si moltiplicano. Pansaers sta terribilmente male, pensa al suicidio. Il 21 aprile, è ricoverato all'ospedale la Charité di Parigi. Picabia, Cocteau e Massot (quest'ultimo gli porta il suo studio De Mallarmé à 391) gli fanno visita al malato colpito da linfadenia aleucemica. Malgrado l'estrazione di un ganglio seguito da trattamento raditerapeutico, il male progredisce. Pansaers decederà il 31 ottobre 1922 all'età di trentasette anni.

____________________________________

O Mister Pan
Pan

YOu Died
before yer time
how timely un of you todisappear
before your bloom had heard its hard
rose
bloss ~

_____________________

DaDa OverBlog 100 ~

Revues et articles

- «Meeting pansaerien», édouard Jaguer, Phases, n° 1, 1954.
- Temps Mêlés. Parade pour Picabia /Pansaers, Verviers (Belgique), 1958.
- «Sur Clément Pansaers», Marcel Lecomte, Synthèse, n° 161, octobre 1959 et «Le Suspens», Mercure de France, 1971.
- Ça Ira !, collection complète (1920-1923), éditions Jacques Antoine, 1973.
- Résurrection, cahiers mensuels littéraires illustrés, collection complète, 1917-1918, éditions Jacques Antoine, 1974.- «L’éternel retour du pan-pan au cul» [L'eterno ritorno del pan-pan al culo], Rossano Rossi, Textyles, n° 8, novembre 1991, pp. 29-37.

fictions

Jill cant prophesy or predict the shape her body . take.

sometime she green. othertime

red bird

closer to verb

.

her foliage

is sparing.

the newer ones

think they see

as falcons

might

but

air's

clean

and


rage is


air

too

so how

be

invisible

in the


socks of the sky?

_______________


other time

was Mona

her Franny


whirled

by the getup

of


desire


its


loves


_______________________________

that way you know
poetry
thrive

a thousand
and

one

door ~

the long bed crossed by its various daughters ... kindle wood

wanted to, but she didn’t, I didn't, she wasn't__, and I regretted this, thinking there was just that moment when her breast was so there so there it ‘d have consoled me later, knowing I’d felt her breast my hand grazing her breast would’ve warmed the cold night suppled my frozen hands thawed out my numb fingers fingers of leaf And later that day when I came saying her name and another’s who’d caused me pain so much it was my first pain in the new game the game of not being drunk being something else something wise sagacious and loaned from God I was broken broken by the spitoon of it its graciousness pain pain graciousness in my mouth holding the steeple to God standing in my pain shooting right through right through shooting pain that pain the pain of bodies lovers got Later her long body took the pass up and she 'landed' on my bed No, we were not sculling teams but lovers on the long bed

the long bed

Apparently this happened ~

___________________________________________________________________________________

Political air among friends of the old-time musical dead, the lost law contained in tablets it’s rabid at the table, a rabbit, nothing up your sleeve, the ouiji board and other musical instruments, containing the Ur song of death Old Spanish monkey on the death chords, people go to polls pollarded by the axes of death the speculation game resumes who is your first

Minister what Minister of pray, highway and blight is your Northern tongue and I my brogues a broken stick forsake the highway. Returning from Paris, the outskirts, slum rises, slums of banlieue what was that rocket that went off? Christmas elections, Mother high erections for your convections, schizo eggs for your head, scissor boy Remember across the bed? the time you came over to read


poetry and it was then I said Oh this is what is the crystal ball of snyergy? out the long lane looking years later I saw you fat over-grown a pumpkin to your earlier beauty slim attractive as the sky become what some sad sandwhich of death in your something blue uniform was that you the girl with the tom-tom cat and the blue ribboned cap and yer beep bop blues and your single stare blue in the eye the blues for Miss T. and yer lover’s slag your breast hung to my mouth ongoing and the night I was right out of it I stayed over it was alright was that the night



sheI was so drunk so drunk drunk drunk I blacked out in the hole, a spinning void wanting her so bad wanting her bad wanting kissing in the bar afterwards on David and Bethshebas balcony kissing her so bad so bad wanting but after, in that after of 'always no to me never loved was a lie the spit of passion not love’s convection' I was a coward denying relaying So later when I was not drunk later a year or so so later Ann came to my apartment on Roy in the basement where I lived she came walking along

with me and I had a hard-on as we walked all the way we ate we spoke she was reading my book no, there was no book yet no book yet yet there was no book So I made up for it when I “made up for it” making “a pass” and she was on my bed the same blanket I have now and this was 5000 years ago I pushed her a little catching her by surprise she said and I could feel my weight across her long body and she said O O Oh O And I said I am I am and she O, I'm not ready "for this," my hand was right near her breast aching for the shape and feel of it I wanted to, but she didn’t, I didn't, she wasn't__, and I regretted this, thinking there was just that moment when her breast was so there so there it ‘d have consoled me later, knowing I’d felt her breast my hand grazing her breast would’ve warmed the cold night suppled my frozen hands thawed out my numb fingers fingers of leaf And later that day when I came saying her name

you came to my hands lover

and another’s who’d caused me pain so much it was my first pain in the new game the game of not being drunk being something else something wise sagacious and loaned from God I was broken broken by the spitoon of it its graciousness pain pain graciousness in my mouth holding the steeple to God standing in my pain shooting right through right through shooting pain that pain the pain of bodies lovers got Later her long body took the pass up and she 'landed' on my bed No, we were not sculling teams but lovers on the long bed

______________________________________________________________________________

There no Proof Objection Reproof or Correction it Happened Again ~

One might suggest an Erring
errancy
Or
Errant

~

us... r ... l ...

_________________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________

Stending the wrong message

Sening the wrong messagettSending the wtrrong messagetSending the trwrong messageSending the vrong messageSending the wrong essageending the wrong messageSending the wrong messageSending the wrong messageSending the wrong messageSending the wrong messageSennding therongessagtending the wrong messageSending the wrong messageSending the wrong messagetending the wrong messageSending the wrong message

nomadic burrows

________________________ Mister Hausmannnnnnnn contemplates? is that desire

machine?

_____________________________ proFessOr ChaLLEnger ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

and the charming Journey to the Moon! ~

JULes VerNEs

the tzarathoustra ~

the tzarathoustra

Vers

over the falling sea

the sea sea

you hear elm

but it aint no more

just willow talk

willow tick-tock

in the shaggy isthmus

bound by crater

thought and hungry penny hand-me-down

you rushed over

taking these matters in hand

(took these matinees in hand)

(bare gloss of)

merited a lover's gasp

we came

like that two troubadours reckoning on the end of brittle bone

____________________________

in thistle down

ground you jerked away the hands

covering night's only rain

frosted with your intaglioed

lair



_______________________________


also this postin
at
mutualmachinebookblog

dye Heart

the first time Bc did that. she was win to her some. as night was landfall. as night was squire.

do the hunter have lonesome? do hand add feet? do air romp cleat?
______________________________________________________________________________
The heart was a lonely hunter, ( Bc quoting famous phrase
(graduated by any other prey)
but then Death stepped in (death bopped down the road azip on the yard poet lady dickens!)


with her whoopsy-dipsy shit ( Or approxy with her wil o' wisp)
begging the question
for a night of fair and
pair

begging night ( dont like this)
a question of life and fare, (banging bus and tram)
that ferry-ride
(a matter of wear and tear) ( catcher of pair peach sandaled feet)
over the other side

where death and ground play
ape and bear
when the lion takes time from the lamb
without a tab
minding its own business

____


All of my words were on parole ~ out of the prison of mouth

as a kiss hidden between two weeks ~

th'et th'

th'et th'en. not too. well? so the hunger.



_________________________________________

d.c.
b.c.
jesu
mur.
climb. flock.
folk. wan.
cover. chink.

__________________
face harder than chasm.
between her thigh. clandestine of the wrench,

_________________________

Ive held your hand with a sonnet
aimless iambic thunder
to her loving thighs
two times
each manner
strum




______________________________

th'et th'

th'et th'en. not too. well? so the hunger.



_________________________________________

d.c.
b.c.
jesu
mur.
climb. flock.
folk. wan.
cover. chink.

__________________
face harder than chasm.
between her thigh. clandestine of the wrench,

_________________________

Ive held your hand with a sonnet
aimless iambic thunder
to her loving thighs
two times
each manner
strum




______________________________

dye Heart

the first time Bc did that. she was win to her some. as night was landfall. as night was squire.

do the hunter have lonesome? do hand add feet? do air romp cleat?

______________________________________________________________________________
The heart was a lonely hunter, ( Bc quoting famous phrase
(graduated by any other prey)
but then Death stepped in


with her whoopsy-dipsy shit
begging the question

for a night of fair and
pair


begging night
a question of life and fare,
that ferry-ride
(a matter of wear and tear)
over the other side

where death and ground play
ape and bear
when the lion takes time from the lamb
without a tab
minding its own business




____


All of my words were on parole ~ out of the prison of mouth

as a kiss hidden between two weeks ~

as a rose

Over the wave. She went. her air. went hair. wet hair. clutter'd clouded. it was . the cumulus touch. as sparing as was her glover. She meant. he meant, love. or well as when water swirls atthe bottom of lover's throat. cleaning the darknight, handsome as a rose.

rain

a coming not going

__________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________

Amants éternels :capture becomings recollecting~

O the lovers eternal as the grasping night. she miss his lips. tiger to her

self ~

the dream rain

__________________________Did you live in rain?

____________________________________I did I did

|O and did you dream the rainy day in this side ? the planet side? rainrain|

(Oyes I did I did teacher I did rain the raindream planet)

it came sideways to its rain sideways to its rain

was that rainy spiritual rain sliding ? climbing? _________ did it become skating rinks to speeding rinks? september?

_______________________her rain was a plum

that rain a peach fell to sky

...a rainy day on this side of the city.... ~
chronopolis


(but the teacher wanted

to sleep to sleep

with her studentpoet

shewanted to sleep sleep)

______________________________________________ did the rain in july
________________________________cavort over the sun
_____________________________________it did it did heel

pumping high

O that

The small rain down canst rain



the old song

the old mystery rain ____________

----------------------------

She took off her clothes her clothes and she

was very disappointed because there

was nothing there nothing her

at all ~

at all

a throng of her giving

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


now hot summer came
her hot head
asked
his hot heart
she
asked
she
asked in a song

a throng
of her giving
round her
love




she wondered was it possible to make love in an air-conditioned room? a fan was one thing but air-conditioning?

were hands
like
hers made
for
the
cool
conditioning

of this

air
roughed by its
electrical impulses?

or

was love

a baker's dozen?



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

nor the name of ~

the bare wood she sang

was a tune to nothing
nothing past ten in the morning
stripping her cage of
the rare ruins of its past




she doesn't intend
ten past two in the afternoon the side order of culverts and derring-do dishes helmed hours prying kitchen doors nor washing machines with surrealistic clothes ticketing the dry wind in the ticker-tape of fury try
repeat fail again




Not that she remembers any other word blended by the hour of choice the sitting down ducks of her or anyone's fate as far as that goes she waits at the table serving the hourly moment a mass of praying and quirky humdingers ashamed to pronounce her name between times she lives in slum rises tenement buildings with rats for neighbours waiting for the cushion of fate to carry her A word clinging to her ear she is the beauty of the instant in the mirror of choice her minor shield an arrow to trace her spare fibs and open handed fable




Seconds later the baton and ranked squares summon the hour from its kept pond orders a troupe in the hill not a possessive noun a frown to agree on a teased spoon leaned against the rock






page turn to her gleaning dust

_______________________

more on Horus and poor old Dagon the fish god

as Duchamp said there are no more centers. right? right so. even the corny Madame SoSo Tris has her face place in theE schema of thIngs. Love is aD og. and that is fine. a very democratic thing.

_________________
Horus and the rest of the kicked out crowd. Multiplicity as a dog. The Dog King. Resurrection is not necessarily transcendent but can be and is a becoming immanence. Three days in the dog house, and yer return as a god was budding blossoms a billion times over, becomings. Virgins and 12s add up to zodiac of pattern ritual and rounding squares. Welcome to the mystery bookof your ten toes 12 steps, and one 13 a Judas(hole) for every beckoning beaker.

Ascend in this sense, is immanent to its subjective torture. What cannot become must be. he and Guattari, were humble, he says in What is Philosophy " However, if it is permissible to criticize such a great artist...." speaking of Tinguely... but if one can criticize what does it foreTell of will and showers of rain. Does your prose speak prose ? is yer performance a sentience of desire-machines breaking.

People who literalize the psychology of the ancient are foolish. Suffer fooling around. She was fooling around.

a Living saviour rare as a radium rain storm. Crowned by coronas of veritable illusions.

In your first prose, you were book and staff. She have rhizome to heed, her bellow.

O Ram's horn. of ram and blam. of shedding and petal. Or rose who flue her eyeballs clapped on kindness.

theE thingSzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

theE thingSzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzinnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggssssssssssss grammar grammar grammar wont let us say say wont lets say say wont it wont let us say we say we wont say us we say we wont say our punctuations must be marsh was its marsh mellow our semicolonoscopy must be berfect or our Bierce wont rite. R rightwontrongour juget wont objetour subJect wont reJect. Our CONject won't perjure R J woan G

of
dese
enmoore
our moor hath
heath
in whoore
hoore

hereenhair

by dese fragmemushes en more our dogs have done

sneaky snuk ~

a sneaky little poet was sneaking along the ground.

not wearing his Homer shoes.
but his home-made Badmintons.
__________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________
______________________________Fishing gone fishy____________________________
______________________________
_________________Soft as a _________________________________________

these and other ... notes from the flying city ~

5


They call it the 'jazz' festival. But it's more than that. It's about people, and subtle moments, and the poetry of summer. And if you're like me, you are breathing the air of desire.


4

When it comes to summer, love is always ready. The thing's finding the right rhythm, the hour the place. Between two meetings, two lovers. Summer becomes a season to come and then, to stay.


3


Okay, let's say the jazz festival. That's where. Near the Places des Arts exit. So many. And you and I. And we can try again. How about Friday?


2



It was not too long ago I happened to attend a poetry recital. I was quiet, and still within myself. I looked across the room, and saw you there.
It was the only time I looked and you happened to look up. Glances were passed momentarily. And that was it. Nothing more or less. A moment returning .

Do you recall that one?


1



Is this how we meet ? In the city there is you and me. I am here and you're there. Walking, wondering, sitting. Reflecting. Asking yourself the same question, what am I doing? I've seen you many times _ on the sidewalks, at a cafe, on the metro, train stations, bus-stops, the bus, the movies. Passing by on the street.Why don't we speak. It's about time. We've loved one another a long time. Too long now and it hurts. Doesn't it? I'm waiting. And I know you are. One day you asked me for directions, or what time the last metro left on the green line. I happened to be in Verdun that day, and another time, it was the Cote-Ste. Catherine metro. It doesn't really matter, does it? It could have been anywhere. There's all sorts of places where people don't meet, and wish they had, or wanted to say something more. But life took over, habits, yes, old habits, of turning away. I know you're the same as me. You're tired of being alone. Fed-up with doing it all alone. And time is going by. That's how lives get missed. Say yours and mine. We can try. Here for a start. You could be anywhere, in Montreal, Toronto, over in San Francisco, Vancouver, London, Paris, Dublin, or St. John's Newfoundland. Or ina plane reading this. It's about time we found one another.