Paris, France

I performed at the Paris Poetry Slam. The French are gracious and know more English than Americans know French. In other news, doesn’t it seem like neanderthals really loved camping? We start moving west again soon. I’m performing in Phoenix on the 26th, info on the shows page. Here are some poems. In English.

Paris Gossip II

And you, Saint, came
from whereever you came
and slayed the dragon
that grew each night
from the prostitute’s house.

For this, people were able
to leave their houses at night.
For this, you eventually
were made into stone
and placed next to Jesus.

Paris Gossip III

And you, Bishop, left,
your head in your hands,
after being beheaded
by the dancing Pagans.

You, Bishop, holy, stood
from the guillitine–
too holy to die there,
picked up your tall hat
with what it contained,
and walked from this city,

to die where you chose, leaving
the blade questioning itself
and the people questioning
their faith in the blade.

(Now, in the place you chose
to lay your head for good,
there is a fountain. Women
who drink of it will always love
their husbands.)