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

below

one must be mad to ever, ever leave you