Tuesday, September 9, 2008

sly paris

by jeffery mcnary
it's way past the metaphor
en pointe
it's seine rolling
it's bunches of all things
it's couples and bells there pealing...
paris recreats
like a kept sassy bitch awash
in glory of another elsewhere
with crisp diction
...the affairs of the
spiritual...political...dance and seranade?

no, it's past that...way past that
in flats filled

with 'trane and monk
the leathered magus embraced
the scene,
cock in hand,
finding baldwin frying bacon
frying robespierre in the finale
finding my maniacal lover soaked
and skipping along the boulevards
to and
from redemption
from rationale
estranged from time

paris...salutes dead kings in clouds
of stone and gargoyle,

"quand on a dieu dans l'me...on cuve ca sans cri",
the boys say... mocking...you swore off fantasy, oui?
and in the fullness of those days i heard you say,
"be good."

paris touches...yes?
it giggles
and rolls
melts en glace
...it's strangers wink and wave
to the appauding crowd
one must be mad to ever, ever leave you

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