The
Flaneur
When
the ancient portals of antiquity charge the air,
The
Flaneur, hand a swinging pendulum
In
memory of Rome, steers himself like a Captain,
Mind
splintered with the cascade of phenomenon
Assaulting
his vision. Streets pass labyrinthian,
His
body has long known them
Out
of the labyrinth of time, and his Youth
Passes
in an instant pilloried and scored.
Fellow
pedestrians pass les pietons along the infinity,
Their
days too are just as ephemeral, each second
Tick…
Tick… Ticking !
Sitting
then in one of the half- moon alcoves,
With
only the mascarons for company,
His
thirst is appeased only by volcanic terminal springs.
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