On the curb, he considers his options,
Which way to go into the day?
Following the courses of the city tides,
It is almost evening, neon lights are
The moon of these streets
Knowing no season,
The city will not soon change its face,
And will continue in its pace and grind,
Consuming us.
He admits it.
He follows Lady through the trafficways:
“If not for her many faces I would
be wise to her.But she loses me always
I see her disappearing in her yellow dress
At Bay and Dundas. She smiles and waves at me.
She is the Goddess from eternal seas;
In the hips of every lady of the street,
I see Her breathe. I love Her, I need
Her pulse and breast. I need her
Though she gives so little rest;
She saps me, as I drink from her purse.”
“Walk with me a little while along this
Journey of the town’s interior,
And we shall see with some lucidity…
That young gal over there serving tables,
A real beauty – eveything you would need,
She has a knowing smile and confidence,
Which comes when the worst blows of this nasty
World have not destroyed you. She’s been here a
Long time, she doeesn’t work here, she presides.
Her name is Lucy.
A song called, “Dancing in the Moonlight” is
On the jukebox. We are beneath the street,
In a basement, subterrrainean
Lonely men in dark corners of the bar,
She serves them too and gives them something of
What they need, more than beer and chips and hamburgers.

The city’s still the same, pursuing itself with frantic energy
Searching out its name in the maze of streets
Each of us descending for immersion;
Seeing how we may swim in its waters
And return home to sleep ’til there is no home
But only it with starved eyes in the dark.
It’s very serious after a while
Until the sky blows the roof out between
The buildings:
And there is a vast emptiness of miles
An infinite apace that breathes in the night
Sweeping streets clean of our minor concerns
And navel gazing.
Then we return to the luscious fullness
Of bodies passing
he wants to rub against them
And dance along the street behind them
Chops licking and a smile on his face… yes
This is the land of fuck as someone said,
A whole city in heat.
In heat to buy dresses and get to work,
To get that beer, get parked, get entertained.
And the enormous hierarchy of it all,
The towering fuck order, with the
Enormous fucking full cunt at the top,
For a little motivation.
And we descend to the depths, happy as
Larks without nests, and a spot of love
In our breasts, and tea in our cup and a
Lady in our lap, the evening before dark;
And the fullness of a cresting stiff cock,
Erection between her legs and she sags,
Bears down on it, then turns to face me with
Legs spread wide and a dark passion in her eyes
Yes, this is what I need, yes I need this,
Fill me, plant your seed deep, so I may walk
Warmly when I return upon the streets;
Plant it, baby, plant it, and turn off the T.V;
There is a fire burning inside me and I need,
I need; I need what you have to give me;
This is what I came here for, down these streets
To this dark alley-lore, deep beneath the
Sidewalks,warm water running, deep, deep, hear
The sirens on the street – such urgency –
O come to me, and love me deep, baby,
Don’t you see my need? Fill me, fill me
And then out again warmed and refreshed
And calmed by her soothing hands…




(c) 1980-2019 BY W.G. Milne



True love is not lost to savagery,
Nor is spirit a stranger to cash;
And tenderness can turn to violence,
The brightest flame will often turn to ash.

And St. Martin did one time love a lass,
Sweet as the sky were her brightest blue eyes;
And they danced to the sound of a violin,
They danced and they laughed ’til the dawn                    came in.

St Martin, he has come to be gone now,
He is buried deep under the grass;
It’s said where he lies it’s a holy place
His child dances at the feet of his lass.

(C)2019 by W.G. Milne