Long Poems on Arthur Rimbaud

(while considering “The Drunken Boat” by Jean Nicholas Arthur Rimbaud)  
   
In first ray’s light, the empty crows descend,    
Black beaks that tear apart the road’s edge death,    
Urine caressed, the end of tony night,    
Reflecting steams of neon sputters end.    
   
How graceful silks arise above the blood.    
How leather’s polished gaze in gentile steps,    
From stone to stone, avoids the gentile muck,    
The gentile eyes that never find its flood.    
   
The white plates’ stack, the grace of black hat...

The three Furies never kept me guessing;
The seasons, whither, when or why.  
Every year, the protocols of dressing:  
Always the same place, the same time.  

The almanac predictions you’d swear by,  
The ice age that nobody felt.  
We knew the sun had gone cold in the sky,  
Then one day things started to melt.  
 
And although the seas rose ever higher,  
The floods and the runoffs, but worse.  
One day came an ominous town cryer  
Who speaks of a harbinger thirst.  
 
To write the unspoken is...