Up upon a crimson ledge
Oblivious to the wind direction
She steered at the changing leaves
Bells rang from afar
As vows were being manipulated
In the cathedrals of rush hour
Paris was a symbol
Of what
I don’t know
Maybe a handbag
Of romanticized sophistication
Wealth
Or something untouchable
How was harmony possible
When the wind wouldn’t shut up
And the mind wouldn’t let go
So strident is the bashed up
Maiden
The man gets lost in derivatives and box scores
While the lady feels the rapture
And trembles with the earth
Alone
Lifetimes of just missing
Like old Velcro that lost its gumption
Missing and passing and fucking and leaving
Crates of books
And bills that come after the fact
A line item of joy
In a broken time
