Paris, France I performed at the Paris Poetry Slam. The French are gracious and know more English than Americans know French. In other news, doesn't it seem like neanderthals really loved camping? We start moving west again soon. I'm performing in Phoenix on the 26th, info on the shows page. Here are some poems. In English.

Paris Gossip II

And you, Saint, came from whereever you came and slayed the dragon that grew each night from the prostitute's house.

For this, people were able to leave their houses at night. For this, you eventually were made into stone and placed next to Jesus.

Paris Gossip III

And you, Bishop, left, your head in your hands, after being beheaded by the dancing Pagans.

You, Bishop, holy, stood from the guillitine-- too holy to die there, picked up your tall hat with what it contained, and walked from this city,

to die where you chose, leaving the blade questioning itself and the people questioning their faith in the blade.

(Now, in the place you chose to lay your head for good, there is a fountain. Women who drink of it will always love their husbands.)