Killer Kings on an Etruscan Cup

Art, Books and Literature, Culture, Economy, Poetry, Religion, The Life of the Mind, Uncategorized, War and Politics

You can’t visit Paris anymore.
There are no tourists in churches; only priests.
The Bois de Boulogne’s full of wild beasts.
They’ve shuttered the Louvre and closed department stores.
The Porte de Clignancourt has lost its whores.
Boulangeries use dried, pre-packaged yeast.
They’ve burned the last copies of A Moveable Feast,
drawn the shutters and locked the courtyard doors.
A bateau mouche without a captain’s run
aground against the Île de la cité;
the willows in the Square du Vert-Galant all weep
with joy to see an unencumbered Seine
now swell with fish and swans. Each Paris-gray
morning quiet and slow as a dreamless sleep.

One thought on “Killer Kings on an Etruscan Cup

  1. Paris change mais rien dans ma melancolie n’a bouge! how many people rejoice that the trumpsters are telling fat ass americans to keep away? Trump is America. nobody wants ’em in their fucking country.

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