the sun in paris rides a skateboard
giving everyone high fives winking
at a man whose wife leans out from
a first-floor hotel balcony standing
by a fish stall in the still shady streets
of the disgusting latin quarter at 7 am
having violet eyes like you-know-who
and lighting the unlit…
Random Poetry VI.
"How many public sinks left running for ghost hands?
Your change given in foreign coins and still
coming up short. Imagine all the salt shakers
loosened upon the world; names scrawled into sidewalks;
people who hate people and work in services you have to tip;
patrons making waitresses…