The boat is made of sugar

I am sure there was a contemporary of Rimbaud
who was a far more brilliant man. But he lived
as a clerk or a fishmonger—simply, mundanely,
and when he died, his children read his verses once
at the eulogy. Then, they divided up those scraps,
went off their own separate ways, and died.
A deranged, sham idol awed a circle of illiterate
men of letters and—the weirdest among them—
posed long with his head in his hands thinking,
thinking, “How do I impress these credulent?”

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~ by Jeremy on June 24, 2013.

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