Sunday, November 25, 2012

Sense of Place

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. 

History halted.

empty buildings photos of sign



history stops lose meaning
washed out
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

all impressions 

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
Walk tenderly
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 

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