landmarks breed such fascination,
gridlock is a cause for celebration;
the blandest billboard is a Bermuda Triangle experience.
Alan in Wonderland,
that Mecca of mayhem’s mayor,
swapped his party lights
for sternly staring statues baring blue diamond teeth.
Their tongues are speakers blaring stumbling tunes
about frog goblins billiards bars.
Bird eating spiders repair the pockets
for a hatchling an hour.
Those feisty amphibians cue opal balls across moss
and queue next door for blow fly blood and colas.
Alan’s garage band evokes hysterics
in warlock fearing religious clerics.
Into honeymooners hot air balloons
his third person person lyrics climb,
accompanied by murdered drum kits
and a shrill demented wind chime.
“They say Alan smashes norms.
Dive bombing hornets perish in his dandruff storms.
He loathes unoriginal sin.
Glow worms are lost in his pyramid sideburns.
Rapunzel worships his chest dreadlocks.
His spinal Mohawk is a werewolf rainbow.
Average wing suit warriors
are glorified kite fliers beside this sire.”
At Allan in Wonderland’s end of town
Newton’s apple rarely comes down.
The security tower in the wave pool is a statue of Poseidon,
mosaic Commandos abseil down his abs
to explore the rumour a tile is loose.
Amidst such artistic experimentation
not all psychonauts last the duration.
In this place rock stars don’t die of over doses,
they just embark on mystical journeys
and never return.
Psychedelic driver by Jeanne Menjoulet
Paris le marais
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