From Kandinsky

to Leonardo

this city sweats

genius.

 

But today

I’m obsessed

by hair colour

leg length, accent:

 

the girls swirl

across cracked

paving like

new morning.

 

Each one

breathes hope

into lover’s ear;

I’m adrift in

 

sunlight.

 

This city seeps

genius: dead busts

stare bronze

to copper

 

generations

tumble,

left

nameless.

 

Only the men

march on:

dicks at

attention.

 

 

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