02/10/2009
i started out just trying to incorporate band names, alphabetically, for fun.
i don't really know what it is now
a young boy runs down the street
crying out in pain and anguish
crying out for hope
his voice echoes through montreal
his hands are singed
joysticks once fit in them
the arcade has caught fire.
he falls forward into a snowbank
soothing his hands with cold
there is a man sick with loneliness
and a blanket is his home
he pats the boy on the back
his voice is coated thick in french
he says that it is a good winter
"c'est un bon 'iver".
the snow soothes the skin
and his mind flashes fast
to memories of days before
ice ponds and snowball fights
it was the day to end all days
they were cold, they were at play.
and by the time the day was done
they laid about on the ground
just children, gripping tightly
to the brink of something more
their coats were filthy, faces clean
their mothers shook their heads
such dirty pretty things they were
and they wished they could go back.
back to lying on their spines
watching eagles fly over their heads.
but now it's back to almost grown
and almost kissed in the school yard
it was more talk than it was done
whose lips were the more flaming
his remained mostly unused
those who proved rumours true
well he could probably guess who
he comes to, his hands burning
from being enveloped with letters of snow
the man is gone, there's no smoke around
all he hears is the hush sound.
he sits in the street, shockingly empty
for a town of such magnitude
he feels like islands in the sea
that used to be a full city
he is his own journey, in his atlantis
his mother always warned him to come home
the kooks will be out at all hours in this city
especially late at night
but with his sanctuary in ashes
he stands taller than all
the last shadow puppets dance on the wall.
he is brave enough to stay as flurries fall
upon this chilly city
he whispers to the buildings that new clouds
will bring their morning jackets
and there is no doubt that he
will be the king of the streets tonight
the king of montreal.
he can hear sirens echo so far away
that he can imagine they're somewhere else
for this city is his, and the police
have no jurisdiction for imagination.
no need for queen, for almost kissing
he will rule alone and quite greedily
he wants to wear both crowns, he thinks.
the roots of the boy are deep below
the streets his trunk strides upon
it is beautiful, natural and violent
a savage garden beneath the snow
the boy is the flower, the others don't know.
he just wants to hear music now
streaming through the empty alleys
wants to hear voices, thought he heard a tv
on the radio, his favourite song plays
but he's too far below to hear a word
the man has returned, far too suddenly
"You scared me!" he exclaimed
"and you too" the boy stammered.
the vines of evil are crawling up
the walls of this nighttime kingdom.
wallflowers bloom during the night
and that man had laid against bricks all day
yes, the boy was found the next day
his dreams of being king dreamt far away
the man in the alley was dragged so far
"i'd just been trying to keep him warm
he froze to death in those damn snowbanks
kept saying he was king tonight
beat everyone amidst the games and flames"
and the last detective
shook his head at the sight of the young boy
his hands burnt black from the arcade fire.
what a cold night to go.
