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2011/07/02

friday night

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           and the feeling downtown swirling around near Place des Arts
                and environs is beautiful and open and     
             people strolling whole gaggles of 'em and even mothers and children
it's visiting the jazz festival montreal.... and the heat's just right
the humidity ain't too bad ...


 around the outside of metros Places des Arts and Mcgill and the balm of the heat and bodies .... it seems as if the great conflicts are gone for moments and the rest of the city comes with love and Montreal is a small village

  with its 2 million or so people who love music and festivals and perhaps everyone again will never work...



Friday jazz fesitval at Second Cup with friends
 Park avenue and Milton       ~ 
woman sitting there beautiful bald
head saying to her friend you might get tear gassed
I was tear gassed once and she's smiling talking and
her head is bald
her back was beautiful when she slipped off her shawl
a few minutes previously sitting turned away from us
and I say to her Excuse me , Miss
Excuse me can I say something to you
, and she, yes , and she'd noticed me looking at her
as her friend too had tipped her
I say, I just think you are so beautiful
and brave
you are beautiful and brave ~

and there's that hush of receiving
as a stranger gives a young woman a compliment

    and it's received and she's smiling her friend is smiling and my friends are cool
     waiting and I turn on my heel to go    ~ and  we part leaving that wake of compliment
     to her good luck on her demonstration and good luck on her beauty and bravery
                                               and will I see her again?
                               and no questions asked in this city of millions
                           at the demonstration where they might get gassed?

                               in the news? who knews with the knews of the new 
                                                and the world of its love   ~


__

and this is not a poem  it's a letter but then again maybe all of literature turns out to be letter writing and love writing legacy and love writing to the beauty of the love of 

       ~ 


        and so it spells the binding hold of the city's moment of love for future fears 
               not hopes vanquished but greater hopes to come
                            and greater gods to come riding the rails of 
                                                                                           change and miracle    ~