You can ride on my carrousel
Always and always circulating
With shinning horses painted with oiled paint
You can ride on my carrousel
Always spinning in a sky blue painted ceiling
Enter in my carrousel
The children are playing
But they dont disturb
They only bring back good memories
-d.a

Where do you go to when you are caught?
The Sandmen will pursue in your dreams
Do you ever give that a second thought?
For he is dutiful and loyal while relentless
The Runner will scurry, even risk us
Putting so many people in the way, he tries to hide
They all clear the way to either side
Francis Seven makes the **** and takes no small amount of pride

The odds for renewal you deny
When you are caught, you die
This is what happens when you run
Francis holsters his gun
Emotionless in the revelry of a crowd
Dead in a fountain, black blossom revealed, his job there is done
Spectators cheer for the violence, so loud
He finds Logan, admiring his son,
And reminds his friend of the balance: “One for one.”

On the way to the Carrousel, to bear witness, they enter Arcade
Where the cabinets burst with all sorts of debauchery and debts to be played
And pass their hedonistic delights, ******, drugs and surgery
Logan all the while curious, Francis cautious of his curiosity
It seems he has doubts of the system, this itself is living dangerously

Donned in white robes and masks, flames crawling up the legs
They stand on the red flower and ascend,
Exploding into dust, with uproarious cheers
The deafening roar for renewal, a spectacle, the question it begs
Is this how we all must meet our end?
Contemplating, the celebration of execution, the last thing anyone hears-
Renewal! Renewal! Renewal! Renewal! Renewal!

But they are called away again, and **** Doyle Ten
With his possessions, they return to headquarters, to report
The mastermind of all time,
The computer, infallible, whose Megalopolis is sublime
Does he care one bit?
These rebels threaten society
He clocks them out with apathy
A servant to civility
Idyllic, perfect, too perfect
A top secret mission, unusually
Called to locate the Runners who have escaped the city,
Confounded by the computer, every moment owed to technology
LOGAN FIVE, FIND AND DESTROY SANCTUARY

One thousand and fifty-six refugees purportedly escaped beyond the wall
Logan’s flower has been activated, his questions answered, there is no renewal,
He slips out to contact a rebel, who can help him escape the city and **** them all
Jessica, who posited this machine was malfunctioning; the object of Logan’s desire
They run together, Francis chases, unwilling to believe until he sees
The seeds of distrust sewn and falsely confirmed, the rebels believe Logan is a killer and a liar
Then their eyes meet, Francis Seven, the unrelenting predator
He hesitates, takes a shot at Jessica, but Logan saves her
In panic and fervor, the fox and the cat, certain they’re done for
Hunted in the ruins beyond the walls, the Sandman turned Runner

What evil irony the pair endure,
To have hope renewed in their travels
Only to find it frozen, killed by a broken machine
One thousand and fifty-six humans, stored in ice
Looking to add two more, before its store collapses
Amazed to be alive, they flee, meeting the old man and his cats
The only other human they’ve seen in their retreat
Better to be stored by Box or shot by Francis, who finds them,
Gone mad with his obsession, his grief and frustration, his desperation serves his defeat
Unwilling to listen to reason, to see through the lies and illusion, these two who were once like brothers now fight
All of the ******, the time and the ruthless, mindless divulgence of decadence, all comes to a head over a blinking light
Logan kills Francis, holding his head in his arms, fitfully delirious ramblings, Logan tries to keep him calm
When he starts up one last time, to say look at your palm
The blinking red and black now clear: “Logan you renewed!”

In the city he reveals the deception of their structure
You can live past thirty! The Carrousel is a lie! You can have a future!
Captured, confronted, questioned and caged, probing his mind
Six spinning heads anger the computer who demands, WHERE IS SANCTUARY, WHAT DID YOU FIND?
Six spinning heads all repeat, that one truth was always so near,
There is no sanctuary here!

The computer shorts out, and soon the Sandmen are destroyed, Logan shoots his way out, the city empties in chaos and fear
Standing on the steps of this erupted crater of truth, Logan and Jessica are looking out as a pair
All people are free, they gather around the old man, something they never imagined they would see
Some touch him, in awe, some simply stare
Sometimes there’s no time to run, no time to live; it all hardly seems fair
Something is certainly different when there is hope, there is a change in the air
Somehow alive, the Sandman who ran to the finish and managed to survive, Logan Five has time to spare.

My dreams, in carrousel, spinning in my head bring memories of you.
The colors seem to me a spectrum of all of you I knew.

As I spin, the wind blows in the soft whispers of your name;
Music to my ears, I too once did the same.

A crescent tear falls and it floods my mind
And I realize love is ******* the heart and sometimes unkind.

And yet it stops not my love for you,
But, rekindles your beauty like none other can do.

Unfaltering, unyielding, the carousel never ends
And likewise in it, my love for you begins.

Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.

She liked to play games,
Not in the malicious way,
And not in a way that didn’t make me want to stay,

She played like the way people feel the need to light up the night’s sky in the cities that she loved,
To make what is there different,
To shine a comforting, milky, glow over the natural state of sky that is known well by those
Whose veins pump a wealth of that dense black nothing into their chests until their hearts are heavy,
And their fun loving games are just an actor’s play,
Complete with a weekly Sunday matinee,
Featuring scenes from the girl who they think about too much during their day to day;
So just let it be what it is.

Let the sky at night make you feel small,
Like a strand of hair lost in a shifting pit of snakes,

Let your fear be too overwhelmed by awe,
To speak about things like you were on a hazy carrousel,
A fun up and down ride with no real need to dwell,
Because we are young and still have many coins left in our pockets to feed the machine,

Things do look funny when you pass by them quickly,
But if you would stop the ride,
And take the time,
To focus fully on the things outside,
You may still find yourself spinning.

The truth is, is that the truth is, as direct and striking as a visit with the night’s sky without the comfort of our own lights,
With a black that’s not broadcast,
Like the sleek coats of dark and powerful horses buried by the overwhelming snow of a crashing roof,
Trapped and still for an untold amount of time,
Because the memory of the image is too emotional to be measured by things as precise as seconds, minutes, hours.

They were poetry from a beautiful girl,
Who liked to play games,

She made my week by stepping off her carrousel,
And ridding on mine,
Until the golden sun fell,
And I ran out of time,
Too bad she died.

Rance looked at the speedometer. Set  at 65 and on cruise control ,which he was fully aware of - at least he should have been. He kept looking anyway.
   Every time he glanced at the speedometer , he had to lift the fingers of his right hand to see, as it was draped across the 12 to 1 o'clock Zone of the steering wheel in the most casual way ,causing his fingers, in drooping repose- to resemble an enormous back scratcher.
   His left arm rested on the window sill at the elbow as he was experiencing a slightly manic episode  of nerves,  therefore he was doing his best to stretch his left ear lobe  all the way down to his shoulder . Okay, maybe not that radical, but he was firmly  in danger of removing the inner layer of skin from his earlobe with his rubbing thumb.
    Quick glances to his right with darting eyes confirmed his fear .  He  also saw the absence of Largo's large grey head., so a quick backward glance into the rear of the camper- unintentional but habitual -allowed him to see that Largo was asleep beside stormy in the approximate territory each  had staked out
  It was as he was pulling his head back forward , that Piney glanced up from The Notebook to smile.  There in the co-pilot seat , she sat gracing him with a  warm smile , and as far as Rance could tell , those lips that  smiled at him- so friendly -/were totally natural and uncolored, and if she were wearing any makeup at all ,it wasn't enough to cover the four or five little freckles just above the tip of her nose.  The natural look  gave her face that timeless look.   She could have been anywhere from 18 to 25 or 30 he didn't really know and....he really didn't care .
    It was noticing  those walnut colored flecks, just outside the iris of her light ,hazel colored eyes that  started causing him such personal turmoil.  As it seemed - to his astonishment- that he seemed unable to detatch  his own vision from  those eyes.,  Until she looked back - that is.
    First happening to him when she had  accepted his offered ride and as she wss climbing into the copilot's seat. If it hadn't been for largo, who had instantly attached his chin onto her  thigh ,she might have noticed how he was staring .  Fortunately  he was able to break it off but he was still self conscious of that effect she was having on him.
   After he'd done the initial stumble in the parking lot , he had actually carried on with - amazingly enough  -surprising clarity. It was in those 10 minutes that he had learned of her hometown and  all of the time she had been on the road up to now. Which had been all of 30 miles.
    It was that nagging voice that  kept repeating - in the back of Rances mind- the thing that she had said. " I wasn't really planning to be stopping at that restaurant , but I had to get out of that car.   Although the rest of what she said mattered , it was that part that kept resonating .
  " Oh that guy ! "/She grumbled "was just getting creepier and creepier.  The farther we went down the road , the bolder he got ,as he began to get handsy.
First , puting his hand on my knee and then a little bit later a little higher up my thigh." She shuttered  as she spoke  , in a pantomime inspired gesture before continuing. "It was after he pulled out that bottle and then started taking swigs that things got really bad.   When we started coming around that long curve, just before we got to the restaurant he was unable to bother me and ,adjust  for the curve,  so he kept driving over into the other lanes. Then he over-corrected ,almost getting  us killed  by a semi that came barreling through in the slow lane.   Laying on the horn as it swerved away to miss us, and then I knew I had to get the hell out of that car. Anyway possible.
  " So right then I saw the restaurant sign and I tried to get the best lilt into my voice and the most calm that I could muster as I said  "Hey! there's the place  I'm supposed to play tonight. Pull over ..right here! RIGHT HERE!!!"
    But in his slow, befuddled ,drunk and almost run over  brain he stopped right in the middle of the slow lane . " Where we at?"
  "We're at the place I'm playing guitar music tonight " She said -that she told him this - to keep his attention so she could wrestle the guitar case out of the back seat ,over the seat back and out the doorway of the car.  Then just as she had it ready to pull through the open doorway she reluctantly said " Thanks for the ride." Then with a little thought and ****** attitude " yeah ...I'll be playing here tonight at 8 o'clock , so why don't you come by and listen" she lied
  A bit perturbed and confused but he was still able to find his inner creep as he spoke.... muttered .....gutterally.... whatever  "Yeah I'll do that and then me and you can have a drink and I got a little Coke " then he did that drunken kind of wink where they end up opening their mouth in  such a crooked fashion that it looks like a stroke victims Visage
  " Where is a fly when you need one ". Piney  said that then she pulled  the guitar case on through  the doorway , wrestling it the 10 feet over to the grassy apron of the road . Returning to close the door as  he asked "what did ja say?
   "Oh . I said I've always wanted to give Coke a try " and with that she closed the door -/just short of a slam.
 " You got it ba "...as he pointed his right forefinger like a pistol, but if it went off Piney never heard as she trundled her case across the grass area  in the most direct route towards the building and the safety of people.
  At this moment she was still in the process of confirming the abject fear that had Rances heart doing flip-flops, as he was aware that she was still sitting there ,reading his poetry.
    As soon as she had settled into the copilots seat, allowed Storm and Largo to introduce themselves and as they happily filed her smells away. Storm returned to his spot after just a half of a minute while Largo, on the other hand gently lay his head on her leg and for all appearances seemed to go into a trance.
     She confidently rubbed his head as she spoke in a slight cooing sound then looking up at Rance as he was guiding them out the parking lot and did the cruelist thing possible . As polite as a butterfly landing on the petal of a flower she asked if she might read some.
  To which Rance had said "Sure , go ahead " and then began trying to do damage to his left earlobe. After 30 miles he was beginning to catch up with his runaway thoughts.
   Any remnants of sua da vi that he had mustered up in the parking lot , now long gone -evaporated. Unfortunately now it was being  replaced by a carrousel of thoughts in poor Rances mind that spun to the cacophony of music from the most  sinister sounding Calliope.
   Though the music blasted a torrential sound wave throughout his mind it was not enough to silence the voice that kept repeating " oh man oh man oh man" - with annoying and echoing  persistance - from an obscure region--, somewhere beyond the Swirling carrousel.
   Then suddenly the crazy carnival and the voice came to a sudden mind shuttering stop.as piney's soft velvety voice interceded. " you wrote these...i mean ...all of them ?"
  A quick glance towards Piney was enough to.see this fresh faced girl with those magnetic eyes- now filled to overflowing  with tears -  was looking at him in a wonderfilled  way as she held the open notebook in right hand and with the other she stroked largos head.,Which had rematerialized.on her lap , just as soon as her voice had broken the relative silence.
    " He really likes you" remarked the reemerging Rance ,as he indicated Largo with his head. 'And yes I did ...write .....yeah all of them." Not really smooth he said to himself ..but okay.
    " This one " Piney pointed to a page that Rance could not take time to recognize " Somber Sunset. Its killing me....my grandmother just went ...and went through Alzheimer's before she passed. "
    Rance was still staring out the windshield, in silent astonishment - at her perception- when Piney gathered herself to the point of unbroken speech. " that is what its about ...right ?"
      Rance turned a full face ..straight on and confident gaze into her tear glissening eyes ( sua DA vi having returned full force) "Yes " he softly acknowledged her perceptivity" as I read it ...yes"
      Thats  when that annoying voice decided to reassert itself . "  There is always something about a damsel in distress that always brings  out even the most quivering coward ...." SHUT THE HELL UP!! Lance barked out at the voice as he stared out the windshield while making a slight adjustment to avoid.a small box in the road.
   At that very moment the sleeping Storm opened his eyes to stare forward with both ears and eyes , as if he had heard his masters voice call out in angry distress. With no danger detected as he scanned the area, he was about to resume his squirrel watching -which had just gotten good before the interruption -/Storm let his eyes scan around and land on Largo ." Humans "he spoke to himself " good thing they're smart enough to befriend dogs. Now that Largo...that's a dog that poor Rance could learn a thing or two from." Then he closed down his eyes and calling out "squorrely come on squirrel where'd ya go"  as his slight snore began and his right rear leg began twitching.

If only we could leave this place,
I'd take your hand and our feet would lift from Earth
Our lungs are joined and our hearts are one,
We'd share our cares, our worries gone
Come on baby; fly away with me

I can see it now,
We're passing mountains, our feet on clouds
Baby, our home is on its way 'round,
An eye in the sky, a carrousel on the ground
Come on baby; fly away with me

No, don't ask them to understand,
Jealousy stings, it's just us here now
The ocean's far below,
The clouds block it out
Come on baby; fly away with me

Hush, hush, the man on the moon sleeps,
His head aloft, his slumber deep.
Baby, that could be you and me,
Our house is in the clouds now
Come on baby; fly away with me

I heard tears don't exist up there,
Up there, way up in the atmosphere
The feeling of wind against our skin,
It's making tangles in our hair
Come on baby, fly away with me

Catching lightning,
Thunder laughing,
Baby are you with me?
You'll see this page,
Recall the words I say,
"Come on baby; fly away with me"

I try to keep
a positive mind
but hard when I know
it's only a matter of time
before it all
***** up again.
I'd like to get off this
I don't know how to stop this
Don't look at me
when I wreck into the ground
Don't make a sound
when you watch me
disappear.

He Told Me About Paris





he told me about Paris

after making love…

how he once sat in the Café de Flore

as a boy… awaiting his mother

who danced for a living…



he told me  about Paris

over morning coffee, and no mention of the night before

he talked with love for a city I’ll never know….

strolling along the river Seine

in sunsets of orange and tangerine…



he told me about the The Musée du Louvre

as he made Coriander omelettes

… squeezing  fresh lemon in glasses of ice water…



la Ville Lumière… he murmured as he gazed deep into my eyes

City of Light and Love…

I’ll take you there… if you dare to come

he promised as he  lay a soft tender kiss on each toe…



he told me about Paris… and the Notre-Dame Cathedral

and Café de la Paix, where the streets were Prolific

with  revellers and the after-opera crowd…





I’ll take you to The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel

he whispered as he placed a Bracelet on my wrist

and we can hold hands as we stroll around the monument…

I’ll take you to Paris, in the Autumn, he promised

our feet will crunch the golden leaves of the Jardin des Tuileries….



… so young I was… such a dreamer… floating on visions that he wove with love-

- he told me about Paris, his voice husky with longing

and I too young to realise… he was dreaming too….
Sharonlee©9-

You wrinkle your nose, No
I laughed. ‘Why?’
‘It’s silly.’
‘Sillier than driving
In the middle of the night
To my house and
Pulling me away
To eat pizza and
Drink milkshakes and
Write poetry in our arms
And sing and scream
And driving into a
Miraculously open
Carnival?’
You rolled your eyes
‘I’d rather do a Holden Caulfield on you,’
Would that mean that
To you
I’m just...Phoebe?
I shot you a sceptical look
And told you that
One ride at a carousel
Won’t taint your
Masculinity.
I sure as hell hoped
That I convinced you because
I don’t want you to be Holden
If I’m just Phoebe,
I’d rather be Jane Gallagher even
If there wasn’t a scene in the book
Written for us.
I know that if I could be Jane,
We could write
Our own **** story
And our story would
Be better.
So please, please, please
Say yes
To going to the carrousel
With me
And we could start writing
Our story as Jane
And Holden.

Mi alma es un carrousel vacío en el crepúsculo.

Heaven, O, Heaven, is the path to you through intentions or artifacts?
They are hallowing the moves, the writings but not the heart's acts.
Heaven you are not close in a place like this,
They "follow" the man to achieve, but all they do is miss.
They miss God and make out of people a bliss.
Compensating for the void with the material, marching to the abyss,
A "renaissance" they claim, while we here the truth reminisce.

Mon coeur est confus, J'ai le cœur en aller-retour,
Quand je vais trouver enfin l'essentiel? Ici, je suis secoué,
c'est possible? Suis-je le seul esprit qui ne soit pas doué?
ou la verite est-elle, quelque part, écroué?
Repondez-moi, est la vérité dans l'oubli ou dans un carrousel?
la vérité, je vais, avec mon cœur, avec vous, me renouer.

It is the silence of the truth, that makes the sound of lies loud,
It is the paralysis of rationality that leaves peace unfound.
It is the loud not that rational that guides the crowd.
It never was what they vowed.  

You are a "master" that is creating a disaster-piece

It goes from one hand to another, the cross,
Throwing it from one hand to another, with no loss.
Selling angels and demons, sending to heavens and hell fires,
But O, the lives are not a coin you toss.

Je ne vais pas donner ma langue au chat
Le salut est entre les mains des gens, cette fois.
Ce n'est plus pas entre vos mains, Monsieur.
Aujourd'hui, le chat ne mangera pas ma voix.
la liberté est un choix.

I despise myself for not being the obedient you could cherish.
Shall I follow or shall I purge out the poison and perish?
If I am gone, my writing will be there in the dark, garish.

Actually, you are a "master" that created two disaster-pieces;
A corrupt generation, and me; the one whom you, despises.

I am glad I am enslaved to no one, but my "rotten" thoughts.
I lost my home; my peace. Today, I cannot connect the dots.
Tomorrow, you will be the first to take a sip from my tea,
When I sew a better reality with my weary knots.
My home; peacefulness, is given away to the kids,
To the cats, to the birds and clean pots.
Call me by my name, when he applauds.

À Victor Hugo.

I

Andromaque, je pense à vous ! Ce petit fleuve,
Pauvre et triste miroir où jadis resplendit
L'immense majesté de vos douleurs de veuve,
Ce Simoïs menteur qui par vos pleurs grandit,

A fécondé soudain ma mémoire fertile,
Comme je traversais le nouveau Carrousel.
Le vieux Paris n'est plus (la forme d'une ville
Change plus vite, hélas ! que le coeur d'un mortel) ;

Je ne vois qu'en esprit, tout ce camp de baraques,
Ces tas de chapiteaux ébauchés et de fûts,
Les herbes, les gros blocs verdis par l'eau des flaques,
Et, brillant aux carreaux, le bric-à-brac confus.

Là s'étalait jadis une ménagerie ;
Là je vis, un matin, à l'heure où sous les cieux
Froids et clairs le travail s'éveille, où la voirie
Pousse un sombre ouragan dans l'air silencieux,

Un cygne qui s'était évadé de sa cage,
Et, de ses pieds palmés frottant le pavé sec,
Sur le sol raboteux traînait son blanc plumage.
Près d'un ruisseau sans eau la bête ouvrant le bec

Baignait nerveusement ses ailes dans la poudre,
Et disait, le coeur plein de son beau lac natal :
" Eau, quand donc pleuvras-tu ? quand tonneras-tu, foudre ? "
Je vois ce malheureux, mythe étrange et fatal,

Vers le ciel quelquefois, comme l'homme d'Ovide,
Vers le ciel ironique et cruellement bleu,
Sur son cou convulsif tendant sa tête avide,
Comme s'il adressait des reproches à Dieu !

II

Paris change ! mais rien dans ma mélancolie
N'a bougé ! palais neufs, échafaudages, blocs,
Vieux faubourgs, tout pour moi devient allégorie,
Et mes chers souvenirs sont plus lourds que des rocs.

Aussi devant ce Louvre une image m'opprime :
Je pense à mon grand cygne, avec ses gestes fous,
Comme les exilés, ridicule et sublime,
Et rongé d'un, désir sans trêve ! et puis à vous,

Andromaque, des bras d'un grand époux tombée,
Vil bétail, sous la main du superbe Pyrrhus,
Auprès d'un tombeau vide en extase courbée ;
Veuve d'Hector, hélas ! et femme d'Hélénus !

Je pense à la négresse, amaigrie et phtisique,
Piétinant dans la boue, et cherchant, l'oeil hagard,
Les cocotiers absents de la superbe Afrique
Derrière la muraille immense du brouillard ;

A quiconque a perdu ce qui ne se retrouve
Jamais, jamais ! à ceux qui s'abreuvent de pleurs
Et tètent la douleur comme une bonne louve !
Aux maigres orphelins séchant comme des fleurs !

Ainsi dans la forêt où mon esprit s'exile
Un vieux Souvenir sonne à plein souffle du cor !
Je pense aux matelots oubliés dans une île,
Aux captifs, aux vaincus !... à bien d'autres encor !

My life is endless journey, in search of blissful vibes,
I walk at soulless city; I am left with painful bites,
You!!!!.... Empty my heart, destroy this beautiful yard,
I will leave you behind, get out!!!!..., release my mind!!!!!!!!!!!

Love is so ungrateful, my feelings mean nothing,
Life is cruel carrousel; I hate this up and down thing,
Each bite is so fatal; my heart craves for something,
That gives me no feelings and makes it a strong thing.

El corazón y su redoble iracundo
el obscuro caballo de la sangre
caballo ciego caballo desbocado
el carrousel nocturno la noria del terror
el grito contra el muro y la centella rota
Camino andado
                            Camino desandado
El cuerpo a cuerpo con un pensamiento afilado
la pena que interrogo cada día y no responde
la pena que no se aparta y cada noche me despierta
la pena sin tamaño y sin nombre
el alfiler y el párpado traspasado
el párpado del día mal vivido
la hora manchada la ternura escupida
la risa loca y la puta mentira
la soledad y el mundo
Camino andado
                            camino desandado
El coso de la sangre y la pica y la rechifla
el sol sobre la herida
sobre las aguas muertas el astro hirsuto
la rabia y su acidez recomida
el pensamiento que se oxida
y la escritura gangrenada
el alba desvivida y el día amordazado
la noche cavilada y su hueso roído
el horror siempre nuevo y siempre repetido
Camino andado
                            camino desandado
El vaso de agua la pastilla la lengua de estaño
el hormiguero en pleno sueño
cascada negra de la sangre
cascada pétrea de la noche
el peso bruto de la nada
zumbido de motores en la ciudad inmensa
lejos cerca lejos en el suburbio de mi oreja
aparición del metro cojo
el puente roto y el ahogado
Camino andado
                            camino desandado
El pensamiento circular y el círculo de familia
¿qué hice qué hiciste qué hemos hecho?
el laberinto de la culpa sin culpa
el espejo que acusa y el silencio que se gangrena
el día estéril la noche estéril el dolor
estéril
la soledad promiscua el mundo despoblado
la sala de espera en donde ya no hay nadie
Camino andado y desandado
la vida se ha ido sin volver el rostro.

Præbete aures, vos qui continetis multitu- dines
et placetis vobis in turbis nationum, quoniam non
custodistis legem justitiæ, ne- que secundum
voluntatem Dei ambulastis.
SAP. 6.


Voitures et chevaux à grand bruit, l'autre jour,
Menaient le roi de Naple au gala de la cour.
J'étais au Carrousel, passant avec la foule
Qui par ses trois guichets incessamment s'écoule
Et traverse ce lieu quatre cents fois par an
Pour regarder un prince ou voir l'heure au cadran.
Je suivais lentement, comme l'onde suit l'onde,
Tout ce peuple, songeant qu'il était dans le monde,
Certes, le fils aîné du vieux peuple romain,
Et qu'il avait un jour, d'un revers de sa main,
Déraciné du sol les tours de la Bastille.
Je m'arrêtai : le suisse avait fermé la grille.

Et le tambour battait, et parmi les bravos
Passait chaque voiture avec ses huit chevaux.
La fanfare emplissait la vaste cour, jonchée
D'officiers redressant leur tête empanachée ;
Et les royaux coursiers marchaient sans s'étonner,
Fiers de voir devant eux des drapeaux s'incliner.
Or, attentive au bruit, une femme, une vieille,
En haillons, et portant au bras quelque corbeille,
Branlant son chef ridé, disait à haute voix :
« Un roi ! sous l'Empereur, j'en ai tant vu, des rois ! »

Alors je ne vis plus des voitures dorées
La haute impériale et les rouges livrées,
Et, tandis que passait et repassait cent fois
Tout ce peuple inquiet, plein de confuses voix,
Je rêvai. Cependant la vieille vers la Grève
Poursuivait son chemin en me laissant mon rêve,
Comme l'oiseau qui va, dans la forêt lâché,
Laisse trembler la feuille où son aile a touché.

Oh ! disais-je, la main sur mon front étendue,
Philosophie, au bas du peuple descendue !
Des petits sur les grands grave et hautain regard !
Où ce peuple est venu, le peuple arrive **** ;
Mais il est arrivé. Le voilà qui dédaigne !
Il n'est rien qu'il admire, ou qu'il aime, ou qu'il craigne.
Il sait tirer de tout d'austères jugements,
Tant le marteau de fer des grands événements
A, dans ces durs cerveaux qu'il façonnait sans cesse,
Comme un coin dans le chêne enfoncé la sagesse !

Il s'est dit tant de fois : « Où le monde en est-il ?
Que font les rois ? à qui le trône ? à qui l'exil ? »
Qu'il médite aujourd'hui, comme un juge suprême,
Sachant la fin de tout, se croyant en soi-même
Assez fort pour tout voir et pour tout épargner,
Lui qu'on n'exile pas et qui laisse régner !

La cour est en gala ! pendant qu'au-dessous d'elle,
Comme sous le vaisseau l'Océan qui chancelle,
Sans cesse remué, gronde un peuple profond
Dont nul regard de roi ne peut sonder le fond.

Démence et trahison qui disent sans relâche :
« Ô rois, vous êtes rois ! confiez votre tâche
Aux mille bras dorés qui soutiennent vos pas.
Dormez, n'apprenez point et ne méditez pas,
De peur que votre front, qu'un prestige environne,
Fasse en s'élargissant éclater la couronne ! »

Ô rois, veillez, veillez ! tâchez d'avoir régné.
Ne nous reprenez pas ce qu'on avait gagné ;
Ne faites point, des coups d'une bride rebelle,
Cabrer la liberté qui vous porte avec elle ;
Soyez de votre temps, écoutez ce qu'on dit,
Et tâchez d'être grands, car le peuple grandit.

Ecoutez ! écoutez, à l'horizon immense,
Ce bruit qui parfois tombe et soudain recommence,
Ce murmure confus, ce sourd frémissement
Qui roule, et qui s'accroît de moment en moment.
C'est le peuple qui vient ! c'est la haute marée
Qui monte incessamment, par son astre attirée.
Chaque siècle, à son tour, qu'il soit d'or ou de fer,
Dévoré comme un cap sur qui monte la mer,
Avec ses lois, ses mœurs, les monuments qu'il fonde,
Vains obstacles qui font à peine écumer l'onde,
Avec tout ce qu'on vit et qu'on ne verra plus,
Disparaît sous ce flot qui n'a pas de reflux !
Le sol toujours s'en va, le flot toujours s'élève.
Malheur à qui le soir s'attarde sur la grève,
Et ne demande pas au pêcheur qui s'enfuit
D'où vient qu'à l'horizon on entend ce grand bruit !
Rois, hâtez-vous ! rentrez dans le siècle où nous sommes,
Quittez l'ancien rivage ! - À cette mer des hommes
Faites place, ou voyez si vous voulez périr
Sur le siècle passé que son flot doit couvrir !

Ainsi ce qu'en passant avait dit cette femme
Remuait mes pensers dans le fond de mon âme,
Quand un soldat soudain, du poste détaché,
Me cria : « Compagnon, le soleil est couché. »

Le 18 mai 1830.

They spent a long period together sharing, like two sensitive hearts in an Eden of marital tranquility. Both attended the annual anniversary, where they met at that time. It was already the year 1964 and in these peaceful moments, their faces represent joy, without a doubt, the intrigue is greater than a simple feeling, it is like driving away from the one with the plausible eyes, which are about the unforgivable mirage.

Ludwig ...: Who told us to look at the ...?
Antonieta ...: No, don't say it, enough of those things my Ludwig ...!
Ludwig ...: Okay, but come over for a kiss.
The next day, at dawn, the particles floated, those of dust swirled the ferns. Antonieta slept with her face, as he had never seen her rest, perhaps it was the happiness of many of her in her.

Ludwig ...: At the moment I think that those who remind me of the past, make me evoke the total peace that I achieved, but not total of those passionate about a creed or reason, who have to lead me to its equivalent, to understanding. In this way Antonieta, who largely understands me, I tolerate her distance from me.
This day of the astral calendar, it will never be more difficult to reach it even if you have to knock on all the doors of the doomed castles. Antoinette was already awake, she prayed that he would finish and not get lost.

Ludwig ...: The day ... the day ...!
At noon with some moisture in his body, he slid down the road to Calypso Lake, he was going to consolidate his belief in it, in the festival of the one who is celebrated by him. As you follow his course, his imaginary and advisory voice prompt you to run and run. Sweating heavily, filling with his muscles were hot with blood, tensions leaping into a carrousel, inhaling newborn airs and exhaling the profane funereal oxidation of his dynamic flows.He ran and ran so long that his legs looked full of rolling action. When he saw patches of water before his eyes, Ludwig lulled his body when he reached the rested libertarian. He reached the edge, lowered his hand that brought water to the Calypso, son of the sea and the sky. Go Big Parents!

Already the summer season was moving towards autumn. Both imperfect, they did not clear the gleaming perfection in which they were passing at that moment. Goodbye to you, tireless interlocutor, I can see you in my clairvoyance collecting everything else. A simple drip brings me closer to simple tasks. All sweetened by the aromas of the vegetables and their ecosystem. If it were every time like this, I would not imagine a certain discontent in the Lake for this untimely climate change.