LEARNING TO ROLL
This time in hell has the jump on
the Drunken Boat. Weaving together
an alacrity of time, a bestiary of
momentary facts, and a clear madness
of changing weather. Maybe I'll
end in France myself.
With a swimboard beneath each
arm, and a madeleine or a baudelaire
or whatever that stuff is called, in my
face. Walking a bridge of tempestuous
delight. I wonder, do they sell now
macaroons? Or was that just Macron?
Oh well, even saliva can be deadly if
you've got a disease. Walk with me,
lady, we can talk all this over,
all the way home.