Fountainhead: Notes of an Online Journal

”Fountainhead”
 
And in the cavalier of disregard
down alleyways back in the days,
I thought I knew romantic minds until
I found a place of loss of which
rare coins were tossed into a fountainhead.
 
A snapshot, a capture of this
that never changed in spite the worn veneer,
the bawdy steeped in gaudy cheap
atop the silent limestone catacombs;
the sewers’ dead below the streets.
 
Of hustlers and bistros above, each side,
dim along the darkened runways
elegance of the grand age of old wealth
and gilded masks in carriages
of dressage in the gaslight Paris nights.
 
The grande scheme no more; a facade,
a cabaret, the carnival of an
off-key honkytonk. And here the
lovers stroll bridges where shadows
from street lamps above they seek where others
still can plainly see their stillborn
remonstrants, like finesse and appliqué,
as they do, along les Champs-Elysée.
 
 
 
 
NaPo/GloPoWriMo 2019