Perfect Dead
You are improving
as you die
you will be
perfect dead
Rimbaud's life
by contrast
flowered early on
wilted and went wanting
while live enough
to rue it
each man his
own invention
each season
has her fugue
Descendants
eye us passing
as we push on
up the hill
look to us
for meaning
and we to them
for meaning
as buffaloed
as they
on our way
to dying
on their way
to rue
12/27/94-1/18/95, 1/20/96
Copyright 1995, 1996 by Maurice Leiter
Posted with permission.
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