Arthur Rimbaud


Evening Prayer





I live sitting down,

like an angel in the hands of a barber,

Grasping a heavily fluted mug,

My belly and my neck are bent,

a cheap pipe in my teeth

Beneath air swollen with impalpable clouds.



A thousand dreams within me burning painfully and sweet,

Like steaming heaps of birdshit in some old pigeon coop;

And sometimes my sad heart is like the sapwood

Bloodied by the young and somber gold of falling fruit.



Then when I’ve carefully gulped down my dreams,

And drunk my thirty, maybe forty mugs,

I rouse myself to ease my bitter need:

Sweet as the Saviour of cedar and of hyssops


I piss towards the dark heavens, very high and very far

with the assent of the large heliotropes.



Arthur Rimbaud – Evening Prayer (poem)




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