Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Among the French Cymbalists


(symbol.crash)

She has strolled the
twenty yards among
the desperate Italians
who sleep on fine couches
beneath that crummy hotel
over Washington Square.

The wind as a Southern Storm
lifts her up to the land of
wildflowers and Irish seascapes.

Flemish belles wring

A clarion call!
An armistice! And
Felique is alone on a
subway that goes
nowhere.

As surely as the clock ticks,

Just as surely there is a way
to escape the Village

But for Felique, whose anguish
has never been televised

And whose skirts are off the rack

There is no escape to money
and romance.

 

This poem was first posted in March 2015 as a standalone piece but it’s part of the Felique Dupré in the Haunted World  prose poems.

 

Poem and Image Rob Goldstein (c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

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