Dawn Too Over the Medieval River

sitting wondering    smoke from his quasimodo cigarette
the battlements of paris are still around his brain
sunrise caught in their crenellations
dawn yawning and the earth turning under his feet

petrification is a long dirty road
earth dropping like dust from the rolled bottoms of his trousers
existential comfort is good for only a moment or two
then back to around the city walls     his endless pacing

the world is so nasty now that the middle ages seem like paradise
rasputin fingering the car company in his pants
the king worshipping himself as the incarnation of all gods ever
so don’t give me another medieval romance as a cure for anything
smoking your dreams is lethal    you burn yourself out
the thousands of this city    are ready for the light

Written March 27, 2025