Illuminations, 35 Howland Street
No more than just a single, husk-like room,
Their cube in Howland Street became the place
Where greatness found inception, found its womb.
While huddling in this bolthole from disgrace,
Paul wrote adagios, pale Romances sans Paroles,
And in this darkness Arthur Rimbaud’s stark
Experiments his black light soul
In spider webs and left a purple mark
Like slime from ultraviolet poison snails.
Paul dreamed of languor after ecstasy
While Arthur scraped for precious stones with nails,
Scrabbling in Gomorrah’s fire-flood debris.
..Paul focused on the aftermaths of lusts
….And Arthur on how blood and filth form crusts.