Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A thousand dreams within me gently burn

And the air above me swollen with sails of smoke

A thousand Dreams within me gently burn:
And at times my sad heart is like sapwood
Bleeding dark yellow gold where a branch is torn.

Then, when I've methodically drowned my dreams
With thirty or forty glasses, I pull myself together
And release my bitter need.
-A. Rimbaud

No comments:

Post a Comment