Robert Nazarene

 

 

(USA)

 

 

 

Les Invalides

 

Day breaks,

 

Sunday morning in the Rue Saint Denis.  An aproned

Sweeper man pushes piles of detritus:  baubles, spent condoms,

Wine & whiskey bottles—shiny candy,

Left by the whores & hustlers

& their customers.

The neon glows angry in the gray morning light.

 

Across

From the Sauna St. Denis, from the XXX bookstore—within

Peeping distance:  The Church of St. Leu-St. Gilles, old

As The Knights Templar, its stones (some say)—ancienne

& hard

As the heart of God.

 

In candles glow he lay sprawled—filthy,

Shoeless, across a heated iron grate

–beneath Giordano’s terra cotta:  Le Pieta.

 

A visitor, an interloper, kneels to place a few, franc coins

Beside the sleeping man—careful,

Not to wake him—not to soil his own hand.

 

Disturbed at the sight,

Another, fetches an old sister from her desk in the vestibule.

She listens to his outrage of encountering such a one in this holy place.

 

Her face is calm, iridescent—painted

Porcelain.  She smiles, indulgence.  Understanding.

And speaks—He,

Is one of us.

 

Ashamed,

The man turns/then leaves—eyes downcast.  Light

Falls softly onto the cold slate floor.

 

—And leaving, o, we met Him,

Christ,

Sweating sacred beads of loneliness—world weary,

And bended as an old woman.

 

Outside,

In the Rue St. Denis, morning

Comes:  unvast, unbeautiful, un-

 

Generous.

 

 

 

Why My Daughter Thought

I Was Having a Stroke—

Why I Knew

It Was the Vicodin

 

 

Goon napternoon,

Rabies

& Gelatin Men:

 

Welp kim

to toothnight’s

reaming.

 

We ham

Aviary

spentshell

 

pope

tomb mintroduce

U Tube.

 

So,

wimp out

furniture Abdul…

 

 

 

 

An Abbrev. History of the Middle East

 

Where every day is The Fourth of Jew

lies, or so some would have us believe.

 

We slit the puppet’s throat.

It bled civilian casualties but

the puppeteer escaped unharmed.

 

The Prime Minister wore a polka-dot

dress and Brillo pad hair; an eye patch;

Coke®-bottle glasses; a size 56 belt

and a coma like a backfired cannon.

 

The U.S. envoy in charge

of coming unglued refused

an interview, intent

on her Ungaro shoes.

 

Buses exploded like lightbulbs

dropped from rooftops.

The solution to peace rested

at out fingertips:

 

a Rubik’s cube run over

by troop transports.

Embassy penguins

left for cooler climates.

 

At long last…

 

a breakthrough came at Camp

David:

 

Did too.  Did not.

Did too.  Did not.

Did too.  Did not.

 

Did not.  Did too.

 

 

 

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