The Inflection Point

Gradual noise and rumblings below me

The debauchery of last night’s feverishness

Start to erect from the greyness and silence of the morning

Paris rises unlike most cities – slowly

If you listen closely the streets will whisper

Tales of past lives and passed nights

Maybe Napoleon stood just right there

Where the Café barista takes a morning drag

Most burgh’s I’ve travelled to awake in a roar

A hustle to jolt for the lead in the world

Where you run so hard, only just to stay in place

As if the powder in the left nostril

Left directly to the heart

But anything through the right

Is heading right to the membrane

The center of the world, I stand amongst it here.

The rumblings of history inspire me to more.

I cannot speak for my thoughts tomorrow

Or my actions a mere half-life ago

In this moment though, the sun starts to warm me

So maybe the French got something correct

Battre le fer pendant qu’il est chaud.

– CC