If we were in Paris
It would be for the lottery's winning
The blanc-manger, the blanc-seing, the carte blanche
If we were in Paris
Dripping silver and ink
The whores, not snaggletoothed, would point out
Our cheekbones and cheek, and go on
Soothing the poet's heart in his house
If we were in Paris
I'd glower at you the length of the tower
Our mouths burning
Of Eiffel iron the city metallic
The garden of my aunt the zinc of the bar
Where we'd bite and kiss like lettrists
If we were in Paris
Pressing through arcades, Benjamin-like
We'd be swinging a hip, a pigeon
Delicate of foot, our skin would clear
I'd tell you off, get slapped for my pains
For Bataille and Bastille
If we were in Paris
We'd stay up as if cramming for that test of citizenship
The Republic of letters desires our body but
You'd steal that book and
If we were in Paris
My blue-eyed baby would be born an Aquarian
Who's the father
The question refused, as we drink tea from glasses
Like the stars that cluster round the Olympia
If we were in Paris
I'd handle your Gauloise oh so deftwise
Now see how facile that was
The prescriptive grammarian that naps within
Has tried to describe, and found
How easy it is, to
Fit conditional clause to purpose
My year's-end verbs fall
Muffled on the boulevard and
When you find a finer way to coif a phrase
Tell me
We'll leave
