let me live among the Gypsies…peasants in the streets of Paris…sitting on park benches babbling incoherently to no-one..I’d feel right at home…

give us today our daily bread…Sartre..
Beckett..Camus….it’s all that is needed…no other nourishment required….

just simplicity…seeking my own truth…a truth that does not hinder thought…expression…idealism..we who seek this truth….punished…yet our pay is greater than any merchant’s…

to walk the streets of Paris…far away from the commerce of New York…L.A….or ….Tuscaloosa…just seek truth…and let your gates be open….

in following the paths of dreamers…of dreams…our riches will unfold…

and so I long for the Gypsy life…the poet…the dancer…not the pawn

get me to Paris…