Hills, she infered, remind her
of white elephants
of rounded bellies and stone lungs
this is the city where the hills
make the shape of another element
no high surfaces
he sat here, in this very tiny room
where books line the floor
to imagine other cities
white elepants, raw bones then a pistol
thrown in the head
because the world is too much
at times, but here,
the words slow down,
the memories like white elephants move slowly
in this city, the Seine is blue
the hills, not white
non-existent.
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