6538. TO THOSE FAR ANTIBES

TO THOSE FAR ANTIBES

It is here, I guess, they rest. Picasso Museum, and

everything else, the line from history's dormer leads

here. Mediterranean sun, is that? A playful distance

but from Cannes, and Nice? I should travel in such

company : nay, this dreary Eurail pass cuts me instead

through mud and blood, the muck of a hundred years 

back : warfare, teeming, with all those optimistic

young men. All dead now  -  whether bullets and

bombs or a simple old age. The figments and

the dreams never leave. The figments and

the dreams, never leaving.