/lit/ - Literature

In case anyone bothered to give it a read, i'd be grateful.

Greek Theatre, Berkeley, 6.1.13

My young arms
Wander in saturnine
Bitter red wine,
A painful Saturday
Wanting sober words.

So much for poesy…
Again they go, to ecstasy.
There, child among brothers,
Borne by the same ether,
I witnessed;

Amidst aching
Vacant smiles, I saw
Stripes of music,
Glowy orange wounds
Scattered salmon clouds

Plum-starred trees,
A rainforest of shadows
From Man to Gibraltar
All dripping like slugs
Lucent and green

A tribe:
Hunters, doctors, diviners,
Lost from another age
Faces smeared with paint
Beak to beak
Parched and blisters by their Sun.

I saw a thousand moons!
Just as milky and inclined
To the flow that drives us
All insane back and forth,
In violent pendulumtic blows

And down, down the blue steam’d
Umbrella; lungs shaped like moths
An opiumful of flowers,
To feast
To choke on that gas we call Love.

The hyper-electric albatross
Snake of many Symbols
Set wings upon our nerves
The sting cut through our spleen—
Scavenge he did on our coloured bones.

In the Armada where I strayed,
Swooned to the steel of guitars,
The deep trumpets shouted
Tunes and refrains
Of orgastic organs gushing red.

On my index fires lied,
The blossom of a million fireflies;
There they bloomed; there they died…
My compass flinched:
Run! Where to—my runaway?

To the neon-greased temples
Where cigarette burns and some minor nymphs
Bickered over the matter
Of metempsychosis and the pathway to
Old Joshua Tree.

All this but for a map? Just one vision?
I should have asked them
But the tides drew me away
I would I had asked the question:
Where is it, where is home?

I shored on the waters of Europa,
Sweet as black treacle, purpl’d
Mouth, so sick
And wet with desire, she
Danced to that Innocence in exile.

T’was a sway I knew well
My foreign faith and my Moorish ways;
I chased the alcoholic steps,
Cracked unwilling lips
Wrecked my heart in fleshy hips.

Leashed to a rotten mast
I sailed long across the night—
Kissed horrors and freckles,
Sacked cathedrals of broken glass,
And of rainbow Benzo I wept:

Still, it is one of those nights
That makes me wonder:
‘Will it ever stop?
How many times more? Ay, when
Will I find my ruins and rest?’

tough choice, i'd have to go with this guy.

>>4311102
Arthur Rimbaud

Drink absinthe, smoke dem opium, flee in england, ravish the boy like no tomorrow, shoot each other.