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Montreal 375

Sainte Catherine Street Towering black nuns frighten us as they come lumbering down the tramway aisle amulets and talismans caught in careful fingers promising plagues for an imprudent glance So we bow our places away the price of an indulgence How may we be saints and live in golden coffins Who will leave on our stone shelves pathetic notes for interventions How may we be calm marble gods at ocean altars Who will murder us for some high reason There are no ordeals Fire and water have passed from wizards' hands We cannot torture or be tortured Our eyes are worthless to an inquisitor's heel No prince will waste hot lead or build a spiked caskets for us Once with a flaming belly she danced up

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