deepundergroundpoetry.com
Twilight
(2002)
In a twilight sleep, just before the hour
of my death, the room shifts
from the weight of a pill.
I have lost my language, love,
moving like a house as I have
for thirty years within
the stained cracks of churches,
and churches are stationary,
churches never move.
I am finished with it all
as I pull my peasant’s robe
tightly about my shoulders.
I have seen the angel-face
of Rimbaud as he squats
within his squalid grave.
I turned my face away from his.
He never forgot and as I kiss you
I remember and wake only because you wake.
In a twilight sleep, just before the hour
of my death, the room shifts
from the weight of a pill.
I have lost my language, love,
moving like a house as I have
for thirty years within
the stained cracks of churches,
and churches are stationary,
churches never move.
I am finished with it all
as I pull my peasant’s robe
tightly about my shoulders.
I have seen the angel-face
of Rimbaud as he squats
within his squalid grave.
I turned my face away from his.
He never forgot and as I kiss you
I remember and wake only because you wake.
Published 25th Apr 2015
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25th Apr 2015 3:06am
I'm not familiar with Rimbaud's poetry, but know that he prefigured surrealism so he may have been an influence on this. Your images are always strong, here "the stained cracks of churches" and Rimbaud's squatting, grotesque figure. But it's basically a love poem, and a fine one. You were quite the talent even thirteen years ago Toni.
25th Apr 2015 3:15am
25th Apr 2015 5:49am
