Arc de Triomphe

Armies march through

the astylar, sabers drawn;

Costermongers peddle

stale bread, skunked wine;

Absurdists sit in pairs,

facing out, clouded

under awnings;

A minstrel sings,

“Gender is a mannequin

in a store front;

all hip bones are ears,

waiting, listening…”

A girl is given a

ballerina marrionette

by her mother, corseted;

The tourists at Notre Dame

see the friezes above the portals

as comic, frills;

Mimes pose under gas lamps,

faces unpainted;

A beggar swipes coins

from the star at Point Zero;

Painters know all too

well the recipe for blood;

Electricity jumps the gap;

air breaks down;

A boy coaxes a soldier

down the Metro;

he refuses to enter

another trench;

The fallen, entombed below,

known and not, remain;

Everywhere, everywhere

an axis pivots.