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| mon chat a Paris |
1988
In this emotional feast I starve my soul hungry for survival and freedom in turbid mind I am spiraling the day, searching the future, the race with time embattled in desire for permanence of stillness and calm.
I taste love being fragile and fleeting and separated that I dare not touch of dried butterfly wings and ash that would dissolve with the slightest breath a breeze or single tear-drop
no I am in a race no time in this crowded street. I see you 'Tour Eiffel' and Seine deep and dark yet you reflect my face as I lean over from near the cobblestone.
I walk in the cold February streets of Paris past the zombies and thinkers all inward as I. You paint me at Sacre Coer yet which character do you paint as I have rummaged through the tapestries of the flea market and and fell drunk in the streets of les Halles with Henry Miller after sins in the shadows
yet i am always the main character of every novel I starve in this movable feast where i am not the hero yet I am good, i am kind in pain
and who are all these others walking around me some hand in hand laughing, I am among the cats on rooftops and climbing steps of the bridge
I skirt Notre Dame's shadows hurriedly before she falls on me, her gargoyles perched high watching me that I can no longer hide in her treeless garden which was once my sanctuary, yet I stop only for a moment to look over the walls to the black shimmering waters below reflecting her towers in shimmering waves. I continue walking alone in the cold streets of Paris, my Paris. I hide in Rodin's garden and wish to understand the thinker and why so many cried for Balzac's death but I shed no tears I continue to walk the bridges back and forth and back and forth I can cross a thousand times from Pont Neuf to Pont Bercy and smoke gauloise like Kerouac, with the dirty gypsy in the train tracks or drink my chocolat chaud at Angelines and stair at the Ferris wheel in the park
though you are left behind, you are naked in my room you lay too still for loves suppressing sad fate unquenching my thirst of the living so I walk on and on, wrapping my scarf one more time so i don't drop it. I left you quiet, angry, I had nothing left
I dip below the streets to block the wind under Pont Marie to hear the saxophone and bateau mouche pass in the water quietly throwing her bright lights on My Paris, I am alone once again and no place to go except for the narrow passage and alley-ways, dans la rue jai soif de vie mon Paris
Je suis faim!
