Go on; amble down Augustinerstraße.
I can relieve you for a bit,
I know of the burdens of the world.
Allow your sisters to massage your shoulders, they do not need hands to bear the burdens of this worldlike
their Athenian sorority destined to oversee the golden city, it’s the right tilt of head that holds up the edifice.
The maidens of Karyai constantly aware, constantly looked at keep a vigil for prodding selfie sticks outside the library on the Josefsplatz
She holds the echinus in place, while I replace my head with hers and allow her burdens to sink onto my skull.
I see a skip in her step, as she saunters off. Her chiton swishes, a twinkle of ankle.
The burden I am left with settles all too quickly. The ladies notice this, grunt and turn away.
They eye each other knowingly, whisper in Farsi behind my back, insinuate that Khahar-joon may never return.
She’s off to rescue their fallen hamshirah from Rodin’s gatesyou may know what burden is, but we know the meaning of punishment.
My shoulders wobble; my weight translates from left leg to right bringing an unforeseen asymmetry to the ensemble outside the Pallavicini.
My neck gives way, a piece of the pediment crumbles just missing a Korean group, bound by bluetooth and peacock feather.
You had one job, they tell me, you did not have to like it; just another Harry Lime, you, all arclights and curtains.
They shunt me out, order is restored.
Man, you should stick to poetry, leave the burdens of the world to us.
This page: Caryatids and broken pediment, Palais Pallavicini, Vienna (Josefsplatz), 1784, Johann Ferdinand Hetzendorf von Hohenberg Opposite page, top: Casa Batlló, Barcelona, 1904, Antoni Gaudí; bottom: Telamon (Atlas) Sala Terrena, Upper Belvedere, Vienna, 1717/1732-33, Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt