Pigalle Bluethroat by Henrik Aeshna

she’s some kind of night shiva
under wraps of rose &
acid-lipped staghorn-coral queen of this bar
opal-stained moroccan sky
& turbulent blue
like mingus liszt or piaf in days of thunder
talking & smiling to strangers
high on herself
dancing gracefully
in the middle of a forest fire
while drunken lads shatter bottles &
mirrors on street corners
the carnivorous neons of sexshops flicker &
scream on cathedral walls
& the waves crash on the rocks
of a distant shore

(bar ‘chez ammad’, pigalle-montmartre, 2013)

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