They made a fake Paris

with all the lights and blackened out windows,

and I need to find out what Potemkin means.

What happens to all our fake selves?

The tour guide, the thief, the pinball packager,

could all be waiting at the Gare du Nord.

Bullet ridden tickets in their hands

waiting in the combustion and tea light

where they’re off to, real or not, on the tips of their tongues.