SEARCHING FOR
MY EUROPEAN ADDRESS
When I was twelve, I ate the apple offered to me -
fool that I was, it became an anchor. Now, I believe
nothing and feel the better for it. I ran away at thirteen,
to find my patch of Paris and learn the new way. It
all took me by storm - Sartre and the bridges, the
death of Camus, and then the great storms of Algeria
and the streets. By eighteen, I was finished with all that,
having been shot in the shoulder by Parisian cops,
beaten with truncheons in the lanes of old Les Halles,
and thrown out of the cathedral by force and a punch.
My, my, what a battle this all was. The streets had then
somehow turned to crud. I fled to Belgium and then came
home. How curious that now Depardieu follows me,
how curious it all is at all. And now, and now, the
fire-in-heart lingers and I never wish to leave,
though I also wish I'd never left.
MY EUROPEAN ADDRESS
When I was twelve, I ate the apple offered to me -
fool that I was, it became an anchor. Now, I believe
nothing and feel the better for it. I ran away at thirteen,
to find my patch of Paris and learn the new way. It
all took me by storm - Sartre and the bridges, the
death of Camus, and then the great storms of Algeria
and the streets. By eighteen, I was finished with all that,
having been shot in the shoulder by Parisian cops,
beaten with truncheons in the lanes of old Les Halles,
and thrown out of the cathedral by force and a punch.
My, my, what a battle this all was. The streets had then
somehow turned to crud. I fled to Belgium and then came
home. How curious that now Depardieu follows me,
how curious it all is at all. And now, and now, the
fire-in-heart lingers and I never wish to leave,
though I also wish I'd never left.
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