Streets are walked without memory
the city does not hold on to them for long
faces muted in the rain
It is quiet. French sounds like the noise
wind refuses to make
Desire, Paris is Desire.
empty buildings photos of sign
history stops lose meaning
with too much light
of what once happened?
Where is the old city?
While I eat alone in cafes, I imagine talking with the dead, the people who have sat before me and the people who will never sit before me and the people who have not yet sat before me.
For a city dripping in language The sound is always missing The streets hold their breath
(and a bit of coffee)
If a city has a name, where is mine? Where is yours? A city made clear In the reflections of pavement Looking skyward the clouds refuse to yield. In pavement shadows the Rain abandoned We see ourselves
made into skin
when we wake up to
"I could be anywhere"
learn to walk a city like sleeping with a virgin
treat her as if she doe not know what her body knows
look into her eyes and see what is under
and what will fill the sky.
Make sure to remember her name.
When is Paris Cliche?
when it is aflame
when the rats are out
when it rains
like the motion of celestial bodies
"the City and the Sky never remain the same" -Calvino