What happened?

I thought we were going to write our names.
On ancient archaic architecture.
In Europe.
As we squated our way across.
The European Empire.
Looking for that good.
In everyone

We would have.
Made love with the Bohemian Eurotrash.
Like us.
Yearning for an adventure across the territory of that Cold War.
Like a Mutually Assured futile resistance.
Against those individual battles.
We fought.

In DDR uniforms.
Crusty jackets and holy clothes
With rabid Communists.
The bishops of our redemption.
A patched messiah.

We were going to storm the Bastille high on acid.
Make love under the Arch Triumph.
And, scream our victory to the ghosts in the Catacombs.
We  would bomb the old histories in every antediluvian city.
Set fire to our heritage, and laugh.
In that blazing dawn.
In that explosion.

In that could have been.

But,
We never really got passed the lawn.
We passed out on the side walk.
And vomited on our shirt.