A city cut out of paper
country of dysfunctional seagulls
eyes, all eyes, from the housing,
bruised, soft husks
or dire hopeless bells, September
of plane trees
camouflaged & season-drunken,
well and truly
nonentities
beside Mephisto, M in his
tram-attendant’s oversized green coat
against a tableau of a Chinese Garden
O stockinged dancers
secretly carrying hearts around
move like ancient figures
on a turning lantern
No, like after
a big flood