brain broken
body throbbing
tired isn’t the right descriptor for this 
zombie is closer but still
not quite right
want to be deep
want to be real
want to inspire 
and make you feel
want to tell you about the 
magic of Paris 
and there was magic 
of course there was
and there was life
homelessness next to gold 
relatively new grief next to 
impressively old inspirations
grids of a city to be uncovered 
by strangers in alleys 
hoping wishing grasping 
for something to believe 
mobs of bodies 
mobs of souls
mobs of life
from one continent to the next 
looking for each other 
looking for lips to kiss 
hands to hold
tongues to suck 

do any of us really know 
what the fuck we are doing 
all there is to do 
is feel 
everything 
over and over 
all at once
timelines are illusory 
only love is real
and it lasts forever 
well past life 
well past death
i heard my father’s voice 
echo through the halls of 
Musée d’Orsay
i saw through his eyes in the 
Jardin des Tuileries
my own eyes leaking liquid 
missing like a flood 
a group of teenagers sipping 
wine laughing watching 
as i sobbed as i sobbed as i sobbed 
hyperreality surreality what’s reality 
the world falls apart at the seams
and i wait and i wait and i wait 
for what barely i even know
i seek and i seek and i seek
for what barely i even know
Paris New York Los Angeles Sydney 
the secret they all tell you 
the one we all have to learn 
for ourselves as often as it takes 
wherever you go
there you are 
no amount of gold will change that
no amount of homelessness
no hotel pillow or bathtub
will ever change that reality 
that surreality that hyperreality

there is no escapism from escape 
there is no saving the eternally safe 
there is only blood, sweat, snot, tears 
there is only this 
there is only you 
there is only we
there is only free
and none of it actually matters 
in the face of what you love 
in the face of what you want 
in the face of what wants you 
none of it is in our hands 
it is all in our hands 
and our hands travel with us 
wherever we go there they are 
our hands, our memories, our tongues 
taste it all 
taste it all 
taste it all
always and forever and then 

i return to what i knew 
am i the same
are we ever possibly the same 
Paris Los Angeles Sydney New York
the corner down the block 
across the river across the bridge
or the room next door 
we are never possibly the same 
we are always only different 
thank goddess for growth 
upwards or down 
over and out 
all around within and without
body throbs 
eyelids weight themselves down 
so heavy so light 
brain broken 
soul fixed 
always fixed soul
fixed in stars 
fixed in fields of wildflowers
fixed in the deliciousness of sleep
fixed in love 
in Paris 
in New York 
in Los Angeles 
in Sydney 
always fixed in love
with you 
always with you 
all of you 
all of me 
all of him 
all of us 
and at the end of the day 
no matter who tells you what 
jet lag is the only thing that’s real
here, the only thing