Finding yourself in Catalan
where the brave cliffs still tell stories and twist
winds through the minds of madmen.
In their cracks the plans of melted genius
have taken up hermitage, waiting for the world
once again to call for Roche.
Your group approaches the castle and whispers
its way up the winding stairs. It's dark, but from behind
you see the thin glowing line that connects, the one that
stops at you.
On the roof your friends veer right
to hear the new language of architecture,
see the lights of the city as they pop and start
the arousing work of night.
You wander left to a cannon,
hard and ready for a hundred years.
And as you load it with your clothes,
they don't notice that you're free,
that you're propositioning a whore to light the fuse.
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