3.xiii.00
Paris
with a cry the commotion broke out
someone began yelling thief!
yells, people running.
so much for my Paris,
city of dreams,
which seemed perfect only in my dreams.
the neighborhood has quieted at last.
no more skateboarders drunk Americans
revelers to shatter the quiet night.
mornings are the best time to roam because
even the keenest of thieves must sleep.
can't even rob my dreams
of a single thing to right. (write)
flower acceptance
rumble possibility fiend
cowboy horseshoe white possibility
France Champs-Elysee
corner chateau clothes
(words that just came to me when
blanking my mind)
the river Seine
along Pont Neuf near the Notre Dame
above the water line
houses booksellers for miles
who have sold there since the turn
of the last century
Anais Nin stopped there
although her feet must have hurt worse
than mine to get back to
Place Clichy
miles of green boxes
bolted to the escarpment
that resemble trash boxes
how they stay in business
I don't know
do the French read that much?
they supplement their income by selling
Jim Morrison memorabilia
and so it seems that
through his death
booksellers will live a life eternal.
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