Caught is the consciousness in this constant climb,
in this city of constrictions and its current
and I can’t catch a breath. And the barricades have broken.
Baffled by the beat my feet can’t follow and I am swallowed,
sinking in this city of stone swamps and its concrete
and I can’t get a grip. And the barricades have fallen.
Stoned is the spirit of a soul now struggling
through these streets of revolutions and its suburbs
of no solutions
and not a single resolution. And the barricades are weighing.
Turmoil was her Troy as this place is my poison
burning through this body of burdens, wondering
if it was seduction or abduction
that imprisoned us both under Paris.
Are we to be buried beneath body and barricade?
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
Remembering and moving on, a Month of goodbyes in Paris