by phillipw | Dec 17, 2019 | RI
10, rue de Buci The naked Rimbaud liked to show his prick To chambermaids across the rue. He peeled His clothes off and bestrode the roof, his thick Hair being his complete attire, a field Above is scalp, a thick patch down below. An outfit “mythological” is...
by phillipw | Dec 17, 2019 | ID
Stolen Identity ‘Every being seemed to me to be entitled to several other lives.’ — Rimbaud, ‘Délires,’ Une Saison en Enfer Won’t someone please assist me by stealing My identity? I’m sick of it. Friends And...
by phillipw | Dec 17, 2019 | LO, RO
Nearly in November About a year has passed The autumn comes Again as surely as it would if we Had never met The death of leaves benumbs The trees and yet becomes Effacingly They do become a fire of leaves no...
by phillipw | Dec 17, 2019 | SH
White Trees on Oxford Street White trees in front of Debenhams’ brute gray Are shot through with March sunlight. Their green leaves, Though small, are visible among the splay Of petals that we don’t deserve. Taste grieves As buyers want Swarovski din. They’re...
by phillipw | Dec 17, 2019 | BR
Brevity is not the Soul of Death The coach goes whizzing by and briefly swan And blackthorn come in frame upon, beside The springtime silver of the Thames. Soon gone, They all are gone. Yet, if we took the wide View, saw them longer in our time, they still (Not...
