Catachresis of Anagnorisis is a Crisis
There's a beauty in the buttresses
that soar so splendidly,
preventing stress fractures in
the ancient walls of the power
that tower above the Parisian sky.
Our lady has lived a long and colourful life,
greying with burning and with strife.
Now she suffers from dementia
and too many a tourist.
The spandrels of her graces still
wear gargoyles' cruel faces
and feed imagination's grist--
no perceptronium will settle these races.
The pteron and the cella run in parallel.
Why should the grey matter
of the lady need protection? This shell
skull promises as well:
At the small café with the nutella crêpes,
half-napping, eyes like grapes,
Sits a lapping alley-cat.
It wakes to nibble off
a stranger's plate.
Look up, look even higher!
With languid lids and
curling coral yawn
the cat cares not a wit
about the cockerel's fate at dawn.