Prompts for RWJ, Prompt 206

Good morning folks! Or good evening more likely. I had a flashback to Amsterdam. So that’s how the poem started. But then I had to stage some kind of meltdown so I went for fiction. Language has fins. So that’s how you are to do it. Do some kind of travelogue. But fictionalise it. I think fiction’s more interesting. And somehow more real. How’s how a pro does it:

In Chartres from her entourage of flames Our Lady beamed at me
The blood of your Sacred Heart drenched me in Montmartre
I’m sick of hearing blissful promises
The love I feel is a venereal disease
And the image possessing you in your pain your insomnia
Vanishes and it is always near you

And now you are on the Riviera
Under lemon trees that never stop blooming
You are boating with friends
One is from Nice one is from Menton two from La Turbie
We are staring terrified at giant squid
At fish the symbols of Jesus swimming through seaweed

You are in the garden at an inn outside of Prague
You are completely happy a rose is on the table
And instead of getting on with your short-story
You watch the rosebug sleeping in the rose’s heart

from Guillaume Apollinaire’s poem “Zone”

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