le métro 
05-17
Paris, you are filthy today.

The smell of bleach.
A slippery quai.
The screeching hum of mosquitos
ready to prey.
A man with skinny jeans and cowboy boots
ready to play

A beggar in the metro with a baby latched onto her exposed breast.

Underground illumated dots feel less like traversing distance
and
more
like
intervals...
of nothing. 
Filed under:
poetryparis, transport, france




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