Paris by moonlight.
Mary Ruefle’s poem “Paris by Moonlight” appeared in our Spring 2006 issue. Her latest collection is Trances of the Blast.
Oh my god, it’s Paris by moonlightEven the trees are drunk and walkingA single pink slipper floats down the SeineWhat kind of trees are those?Those are trees in Paris by moonlightAnd what size is her slipper?It is the exact size of the sole We ate in the little restaurant an hour agoUnder the trees in Paris by moonlightThere is no end to our painlessnessThe trees will never find itThe slipper never reach itMorning after morning the smell of coffeeMakes them nauseousWhile we go on painlessly in ParisBarefoot and swaggeringOur aluminum heads in the moon glow soWe are like an advertisementFor those who will come after usAnyone can see without FrenchThey should just stay in bed
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