Petal Drops
poetry
disappointed
Rimbaud
so to war
there is nothing to admire
in his spiritual suicide
with the Dutch Colonial Army
the exile deserted poetry
but what he taught Haile Selassie
over coffee, oranges and firearms
the same message of exile, exodus
that Beckett gave to André Roussimoff
in the scowl of a bottomless pothole
half-Irish mutterings tossed to the kids free
riding turnbuckles in the back of his Algerian truck
mo amadán, better to be a giant fool than just a fool
for Baudelaire
it was biting hash and bitten prostitutes
and fanciful filthy strolls through Paris
that finally burned out the sickened sun
time walked in his dreams
but Charles jumped through the hole
he had grown in language lolled in the abyss
like a splinter in the injured form of verse
petal drops
these lines written by a stranger
passing in a plague-drenched fog
by the serried, grey wet flowers
unrepentant correspondents of hell
Gregory BettsProfessor, English Language & Literature Associate Director, Social Justice Research InstitutePast President, Association of Canadian College and University Teachers of English
Brock University | Faculty of Humanities
SULFUR 