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from the January 2007 issue

Rimbaud in America

Fever in the knees
gold in the belly


and—almost forgot—
the varicose veins:


so you arrive
drenched to the bone


by the salt of Abyssinia.
Deep inside, a desire


to be ever departing
as if poetry were


—horror at solid ground—
the edge


of an absolute coast.
But there are reefs along the shore


and shark teeth
on the high sea.


Beyond that,
it's impossible to predict


when the spirit—
blessed


or maligned—
will speak.


For this, swallow the stones
you brought in your pocket.


Here you will have to begin again.

Read more from the January 2007 issue
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