Thursday, November 24, 2005

Where I've Been

I took a long vacation, of three weeks,
And that's why no new sonnets had appeared
While I was in Madrid, growing a beard,
Examining the sea-face of the peaks
Of Corsica, at last shaving my cheeks
In Paris, where the thin-sliced beef was seared
But not cooked through, exactly as I feared,
And someone filled the Sainte-Chapelle with freaks.

But Louis's holy relics can't be found,
And all that's left is three fourths of the glass
From 1465. We'll let that pass –
We're sitting twenty feet above the ground
And my poor head is ringing with the sound
Of iambs, not the arches or the mass.

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