Paris to Mars

You can’t

catch me yet,

because I 

am so small.

You search round,

inside atoms,

underneath the sea,

from Paris to Mars.

But you’re cold,

getting colder.

Not even

close.

 

I can’t

catch you yet,

because I

am so small.

I follow

Buddha rumours,

get misled by Spanish whales.

If you’re buried under blankets

in the universe’s nursery,

I’ll search from Paris to Mars.

Am I warm, getting warmer?

Am I even

close?

 

You search across

40 acres and a moon,

from Paris to Mars.

Yet you’re cold, getting colder.

Not even

close.

 

I look inside 

a pickpocket’s pocket,

then search from Paris to Mars.

Am I warm, getting warmer?

Am I even close?

John Franklin Dandridge received his M.F.A. in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago. His chapbook, Further Down Rd., was published in 2010 by Fast Geek Press. He has poems published in past issues of Callaloo Journal and Former People among others. Franklin lives near the North Pond in Chicago and many times writes under the name Wolfgang Gillette.

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