jc8

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dear rimbaud,
i imagine you lying on a mattress
in your greek styled room
reading the tibetan book of the dead
incense in the air
on the wall i see
you've put up another postcard
of Death
asking the same old question
what will await me on the other side?
i see you cleaning your bong
with an earring
so that you can derrange your senses.
once again you have visions
of poets coming to you
once again to read
different cultures answers to your questions.
did you get to machu picchu?
did you get to tibet?
did you visit that psychic in pittsburg?
i never wrote you
it was hard to think about you
leaving me with absinthe in hand
in the mundane life.
oh rimbaud, will you remember me?
verlaine