In how many other cities
full or not swarming or
otherwise with dreams
nightmares of loss and exile
where backyard barking dogs
rattle the blinds of sleep
have I red-eyed and angry
opened maps at breakfast
have laid out the city
between cup and saucer
spilt coffee over street fights
firing squad fortress church
a hundred years not of
solitude but operas of death
and maidens
over districts roaring motorways
outlines of multi storey blocks
and fingers sticky with what might be
bastard marmalade trace where
'O' o'd on HOTEL COLON and one
machine gun scanned the Square
down to the Telephone Exchange
a sector of three inches is almost
all of any homage here to Catalonia man
needs to do but on a rainy day
the Museo (grid CD A3) floor two
a plaster bunker rifle Maxim gun
red flag torn uniform bandolier
makes children pause question
grandpa's memories -- 'que es eso ?'
trace the five starred restaurant
I¹m to dine at and highly praised
the New York Times
for complexities of cuisine aroma
Art Nouveau decor classy
diners the King's been there
heavy silver knives sharp as ice
china linen white I guess
as falls of snow on Guadarrama oh Guadarrama
this index finger tracks East
to find the Casa there in EF C3
and I am free to wipe soft hands clean
of metaphors for blood for tears
I haven't cried for you to close
the map along predestined folds
collapse a city into paper trenches
then going out the Ramblas' hum
the curve of a balcony
intricacy of iron by Gaudi
can knock you back
like a girl's calf in a black stocking
|