St Petersburg

Why do we expect it to be warm in winter
like it was one time at the turn of the century
Only change makes heat in the winter
Intolerance is a flame that freezes
Snow slaps us like slander
While the workers sleep
dreaming of carnaval
Saint Petersburg lifts out of the sea
into the spectral dawn
The chimneys nocturnal emissions
have made hats for our turrets
Bronze soldiers take off after
drunkards
The princess is gone
Left her furs behind
for San Tropez
the voluptuous proximity
to belgian chocolate and
young catalan servants
There are still fruits here don't misunderstand
They are a little bruised and fingers cracked
but the eyes are sharp and
hospitality is fierce incarceration
After all we fed off the orient and
spat out european inbreeding.
St. Petersburg, What did the culture mashers
Call it? I can't remember
Bearded mystics with dark robes and matted hair
Where did they go?
Not to San Tropez
Those Divas mad from neglect built catacombs and
summoned comets on secret occasions
They now return decades later
In high heals and lip-gloss
The peasants touch their chiffon skirts as they pass
The shuffling begins from a distant drone
People whose lead feet never left the ground
slapping and swearing and howling
hens scatter
Trees shake
It's yet to be seen what happens
I was long dead by then
It was told to me by a tourist