Evening prayer. I spend my life sitting, like an angel in a barber's chair, Holding a beer mug with deep-cut designs, My neck and gut both bent, while in the air. A weightless veil of pipe smoke hangs. Like steaming dung within an old dovecote. A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak. Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn. And then, when I have swallowed down my Dreams. In thirty, forty mugs of beer, I turn. To satisfy a need I can't ignore, And like the Lord of Hyssop and of Myrrh. I piss into the skies, a soaring stream. That consecrates a patch of flowering fern.
Arthur RimbaudAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: french
- Born: October 20, 1854
- Died: November 10, 1891
Related Authors
Topics
Quotes currently Trending
You see, what I really want, and what I'm getting with Stephen, is the opportunity to rebuild myself from scratch. David's picture of me is complete now, and I'm pretty sure neither of us likes it much; I want to rip the page out and start again on a fresh sheet, just like I used to do when I was a kid and had messed a drawing up. It doesn't even matter who the fresh sheet is, really, so its beside the point whether I like Stephen, or whether he knows what to do with me in bed, or anything...
Nick Hornby
He had thought more than other men, and in matters of the intellect he had that calm objectivity, that certainty of thought and knowledge, such as only really intellectual men have, who have no axe to grind, who never wish to shine, or to talk others down, or to appear always in the right.
Herman Hesse