Arthur Rimbaud’s Poem About America

by John McKernan

The menagerie of sunset erodes the stars
Cans of tuna squid abalone in morphine

Rise before dawn like a god with a machete
Certainly time to go to bed in the forest fire
Time to demolish the false avenues of self

Delay    Evasion    Deceit    Hypocrisy    Malice
Nice shoes    Gilt–edged calling cards    Dry blood
A tinge of ennui & a dusting of remorse
Blood    Hints of history    Lust    Et cetera & wax

Why did I despise myself so completely
All those years?    Did I use special mirrors?
Why was every word I thought dust before
I registered it as feeling?    Was it the word
Cremation that did it?    Or the word knife?

I have always wanted to be a cowboy and a gun runner