My travel magazine just referred to Paris
As the "City of Lights."
Flipping the top corner of its silky sheets,
I can't help but wonder if there's a better name.
The "City of Stairs" perhaps,
17 floors of social hierarchy, dangerously connected
with six-inch steps.
The "City of Dogs"
347 breeds pulling the masses under the
shapeless sign of Sirius.
The "City of Bread"
Glazed, sugared, grained, and piping hot
slowly being torn apart.
The "City of Benches"
9,003 different spots to wax, wane,
witness a world of concrete and straw.
The "City of Sex"
Neon eyes and inner thighs pumping ubiquitous
The "City of Words"
Heads and pens buried in a multi-lingual sand
The "City of Churches"
Decorating Paris like an octogenarian's cake
full and empty all at once.
The "City of Tourists"
Ephemeral population pulsing through scavenger hunts
checking off life in blinking digital.
The "City of Gypsies"
Human infestation crawling through the un-swept cracks
gold ring, gold teeth.
The "City of Wine"
7 billion swimming in blanc et rouge
The "City of Glass"
Stained in cathedrals, stained in gutters
no one knowing which to look through for their gods.
The "City of Bruno"
Of Pauline, of Pierre, of beret born bureaucrats
living outside the story.
The "City of Piss"
From the Celts to the Gauls, from Romans to Nazis
one steady stream of gold.
The "City of Ennui"
As we metro through their basement carrying
their stares like blankets.
The "City of Anonymity"
Shadowing the dark places, stepping out
in the fore-head high heels of night.
The "City of Continuity"
The same shuddering shutters open and close to reveal the same
Glockenspiel girl, un-wooden.
The "City of Corpses"
Their dead almost outweighing their living, some finding it difficult
to tell the difference.
Or maybe just the "City of Lights"
One vast power prism distracting us
from the cities inside.