Il Qui Repas Ici

gone

They say it does

Ripple on the velvet heel of 

French soldats qui repas ici,

I say it so. Red velvet,

Light and fluffy from a bullet in 

The heel. Fiancee, fiancee,

Wherefore art thou

In this silver tide of steel awakening?

They dropped their pearls on

The harbour, only it wasn't,

wouldn't ever be. The quick-snap,

Flapjack smite of setting the bluejay

Into the wild. Let me go, whistling

on through smog. Congratulations,

Daddy. Here I am.