What remarkable coexistence we have here, in the canvas city. Hazily begging for dreams, we trudge through forgotten alcoves, nurture crevices, wallow in cracked and tarnished pavements. These ephemeral moments seem to last longer, they linger and carelessly float, adoringly wrapping themselves around us like the breezes of the Seine. Berets and butterfly cups, The Eagle screams out to be heard. We poured out cryptic messages before our elders. Naïve rackingly of wheels on the cobblestone, the air of romance long evaded, stolen by these flashes, ravenous for independence. Tourists trudge and capture, stiff in the heat. Drinking catastrophes, they squabble and lay down cards. His tortured pond-like eyes were met for the first time, in the bagagerie.
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Stricken in the churchyard, ingesting nonsense jazz. Fed by this establishment, blasphemy, ridden with cruel, shrieking lies. Corrupt institution, leeching, thieving , applauding ignorance. Slots for your wealth, pour in your heart. Below us they lie, sulking, for there were no angels in the underground. Skeletons abashed, under the tubercular sky. Limbs trudge back unwittingly, rotting. Dainty pallid skin awakes, cloaked in calamity. How shackled, tedious, coexistence has become, steadily striking to the beat of defeat. Always chasing the bittersweet, daughters remind me of Sundays. Sunday morning with my mother and a pallid egg. Flies feed on the residue.
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