Sunday, July 31, 2016

The hills, not white

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

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