Everyday Majestic Musings

Once upon a painted time, in a place known for its giant hearts,
where the houses stand shoulder to shoulder in solidarity,
proud of their colors, proud of each other, proud to be defiant parts
of the storied grid of bricks that, planned, older and older, wall this rare city
where a mishmash mesh of lights on lines
crisscross tightly aligned lanes
like ties that bind and intertwine
to bond with brother-loving chains.

A frog rides a swan in a brown bicorne hat.
The frog's in the hat, not the swan.
By which I mean that the frog's wearing the hat.
The swan has no hat to put on.

It dangles its toes. The frog, not the swan.
The swan's toes are hidden. Who knows if they're gone.
Swim the lake of St-Bernard, Col du Grand.
Cross the kelps, First Consul Tadpoleon.

I'm running home at night. The cars
all shine their lights like shooting stars.
In line they start. Their spreading glow
brightens the dark before they go.
They fill the air. The beams they cast
and grime they spread and sounds they blast
and stench they spill as they drive past
make spaces worse while they go fast.