because paris

i can’t belong to the winter.
while the sun went out
i could sense the deafness of heaven.
knowing what i know, that spring
is the thieving of persephone
from the underworld,
i fear, it may never come.

so i am tough and selfish, but
maybe it is this city that is
overcoming me. this city,
where blame falls like rain.
there must be a topography to typography, 
but did cities ever exist,
but here?