Bill
Bill sits slumped shouldered
At his table siping coffee
Holding a cigarette
in gnarled fingers
With his white
runners on
Thinking
Alone
Am
I
Bill
Bill sits slumped shouldered
At his table siping coffee
Holding a cigarette
in gnarled fingers
With his white
runners on
Thinking
Alone
Am
I

Occurrence on Bloor
Kiss erotic kiss
of darkness
where lips and Eros
meet
In the milk mist
of evergreen
evening
where ladies walk
with arched eyebrow
and people talk
and mouth the words
of secret revelations
as Sirens sound
to emergencies so loud
that they leave an ox
blood red glow
In the misted evening .
R5 AND triple 3’s on Huntley
as smoke seeps
into moisture
and yellow figures
light the darkness
of the grey
and shining streets .
The hooded lick their lips
as death comes calling
in the 3’s
of uncle, aunt,
and stranger.
White Bone Claws
White bone claws
against
tan wood patterned panels
with Etruscan silver keys
Do not confuse
snobbery
with style
says Yves .
Moment of
discontent
spent
in the anger
marscapone madness
dissipates.
The beauty of flowers
In a stone mausoleum
All the Muses have Left
All the muses have left
me .
They’ve been
gone for a while ,
perhaps even longer .
Don’t know where they go,
when they suddenly travel .
It’s just their style .
to suddenly leave .
Are they
in The south of France
or gone en vacances
to Kuwai, or Hawaii ?
Maybe they’re at
work in some
street city ghetto
or have travelled to China
or even Dubai ?
All I know is
they’ve left me
as cold as a fish
without even as much
as a parting goodbye .
They do that sometimes.
They know
that I don’t take offense ,
that I wouldn’t mark
a single line
till they’re back
in my corner
drilling
circling
In defense
of the word or
of any line
that they drop
on my heart
or slip into soul .
This is just a note
: Wishing you were
here.
Bushman’s Hallelujah
The percussive beat
rolls on,
non stop in the night,
a quick pitter patting
of an excited heart,
a bushman’s hallelujah
The percussive beat
rolls on,
non stop in the night,
a quick pitter patting
of an excited heart,
a bushman’s hallelujah .
The beat slowed down
like water drops
running out
that dropped
progressively slower
to faint
and quiet beats,
that fade.
Dead silence
In the night
replaced them.
Planes landed .
Lights in windows
turned on ,
and silently
life continued
in them .
From “Ruminations Of The Dead” by PWChaltas

Worship at The Temple
At the corner of Boissy D’ Anglais,
and Faubourg Saint Honere,
the faithful come to worship
at the Temple of Hermes .
Devoted in their worship
of leather silk and brand ,
the pilgrims journey to worship
to be cured and healed
from all manners of disease
and from the bourgeois
well heeled malaise .
They come with votive
offerings for their token
brightly coloured
squares of temple cloth.
And the priestesses
circulate upright
and solemn
with smiles
in simple black
clean lined temple garb
with black hair
and Egyptian eyes.
And the High priests too
have orange Potiron ties
elegantly placed
with poise
and clean lines .
At the altars ,
with relics finely made ,
the devoted hunch over
and pray silently,
lovingly to the god
of Couture
and Design .
And there are sacred places
at the tops of stairs
where only
the utmost devoted
can enter
and commune
with rooms of precious
religious artifacts
and jewels,
which can be theirs
with payment
of massive
votive offerings
and fines.
And the faithful circulate
up and down
the temple stairs,
sometimes
in familial groups ,
sometimes
in pairs,
but the truly
most devoted
go there all alone,
to clearly divine
what they must own,
and to determine
the will
that the Gods of fashion
that reside
at the temple of Hermes
have for themselves
and for their own .
From “Dreams for a Saturday Morning” by PWChaltas
Songs of Blessed Singing
What songs
of the bleeding heart
can we sing this night ?
Perhaps a self-soothing hum
is preferable ,
a quiet moaning may even do.
Perhaps a ring
of the phone ,
or a tweet ,
will intercept
the thermodynamics
of this song ,
and for one
distracted moment
curtail some of that bleeding.
Maxi Momma
Maxi momma
on the street
standing Yorkville
chic
Waiting for companion
and a bite
to eat .
Cancer
Pale but
Fashionable
Vanilla cake
Parton Hair
blonde and fake
Boney thin
As a rake
With dark Jackie O
glasses
at Yonge & Bloor