The Basilique Sacre-Coeur
About the Basilica of the Sacred Heart in Paris
soldiers tour in camouflage scanning
the throng for populace out-of-place.
December sightseers profligate then
disperse like overfed pigeons
at the siren’s
A living statue startled
propels the crowd further from
There are no terrorists here.
The target has changed;
this century’s fanatics deign to
destroy anonymous power structures—
villains without beating hearts—these
vigilantes seek butchery.
These deranged dogma-dancers:
pour-over, revel-in, wish to taste
gore. They find no glory in
ranged weapons; they count coup.
These solo sons of Abraham
wormed into the chaos of non-existence
where reason cannot reach them;
visions of virgins—their solace,
There are no terrorists here, now.
Around the Basilica of the Sacred Heart soldiers
tour in camouflage gear with machine guns.
Today’s flock of dim-seers roam crowded streets
scattering like shards from clay pigeons at the
sound of sirens.