In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Homage to Arthur Rimbaud Laying our eggs like moths In the cold cracks of your eyes, Brushing your hands with our dark wings —Desperate to attempt An entrance, to touch that light Which buoys you like a flame, That it might warm our own lives—, We cluster about your death As though it were reachable. For almost a hundred years We've gathered outside your legend (and been afraid Of what such brilliance affords; And knew the while you were risen, your flight Pneumatic and pure, invisible as a fever; And knew the flight was forever, Leaving us what we deserve: Syllables, flowers, black ice; The exit, the split cocoon . . . Charleville 13 ...

Share