And under the molded
carpeting and
layers of linoleum -
There lies
The Mosaic !!
from who knows when ?
from how many harvest moons - pink moons ?
babys first weaving steps ?
cats shadow paw prints ago ??

It was as if I had discovered
a piece of Pompei -
a relic - an artifact -
The bathhouse
from the Titanic,
preserved in bright ceramic tile
still
magnificent in the ocean depths.

And while I scrape off bits
of red paint,
Paris is burning.
Small towns are scared.

You say..
The floor looks like
part of the Chelsea Hotel.
I marvel at the psychadelic auras
that are discharged
when I stare at it
too long.

Scrape - Scrape.
Paris burns.
The clock ticks.
With every scrape of blue tile,
I remove some of my own demons,
soothe my own little fears
and
the world spins a little shakier
and Paris burns..

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