paris21
fate of nations veering like any man’s
on the soft hills of paris. if i could paint, i’d paint
it as undulating anemones dressed by sleeves
of water: just the affect of another unwatched host.
swish — it could all go with the northeasternly
diagonally across our last moment. all laurels taken.
not another voice was needed. ok, maybe just
a sweet little whispering or a moan.
cherry red ‘oh’s to throbs of time.