I found it in Paris wandering streets this AM. A flip on the typical aimless feet and I made it 3 quarters through the city before I discovered treasure: What we don’t know is a drop but poverty’s an ocean. So much H20 but nary an ounce to drink. I walked the cobbled street, peered down every graffitied alley, past the hardware store with its junked our crew, the coffee shop, the parlor you stepped into for a haircut once and declared gender assignments for spices pretending to be spices.
I’m reading the streets like tea leaves, find truth but no answers. I found freedom in the line, I had to pee, but became distracted by a key to an open door, retraced my steps and wondered which way to go from there. I’m too lazy to search for meaning in names and too easily distracted to make it to the end of the sidewalk. I like short poems and vanilla cream in my coffee.
The streets could be cobbled with tanzanite and sapphire afire with the light of the sun and I’d still abandon these pursuits for the taste of sugar in my mouth. I’m a user wondering if I’ve earned rights to steal. Rename each city I walk. Remove green signs with white letters from welded on steel posts, brandish purple duct tape, cardboard, waft of permanent marker fresh in the air that surrounds me. Maybe I’m just high on it.. The walking, freedom, and beauty of being a nobody.
Monday November 23rd. I walked eight-thousand four-hundred, and eighty-eight steps so far. Some part of me is always quietly counting too.
I hope you enjoyed my first flip. It really is Monday. Time to get out there and conquer.