Paris pines
for us:
...whines for us.
Lurks outside
our window
like a great big
urban puppy.
We're being held
prisoner
( inside our room )
by a vicious sadistic
flu bug
who refuses to
let us go.
We are missing
David Sirosis's
new spoken
word night.
Indeed, all we have seen
of Paris, is:
the inside of
ROOM 411.
ROOM 411
overlooks that famed necropolis
CIMETIÈRE DE MONTMARTRE.
The dead stand
outside
ROOM 411
...and stare.
And...stare.
Envious of even
our flu-ridden life.
They crowd together
in their stone telephone boxes
like fans
at a Dr. Who convention
who have all come
as the Tardis.
"Come...come!"
they cajole.
"Come...join us as
the glorious dead!"
they plead.
See the great
Nijinksy
leap over a moon.
Offenbach, Berlioz et Degas
act a a celebrated Greek Chorus.
The flu grows weary
let's its...grip...slip &
we escape to
a poetry stage &
suddenly it's
PARIS LIT UP &
I'm on
stage.
A bemused amused
Parisian audience
wondering why
the staggery hairy
Irish post stumbles &
wanders in search of
his words &
carrying all of CIMETIÈRE DE MONTMARTRE
about in his ahhhhh...ahhhhh...ahhhhhhhhhh
....shoooooo....head!
https://youtu.be/8t2K_AovpAI