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Arthur Rimbaud - Evening Prayer
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I spend my life sitting - like an angel 
in the hands of a barber - a deeply fluted beer mug 
in my fist, belly and neck curved, 
a Gambier pipe in my teeth, under the air 
swelling with impalpable veils of smoke. 

Like the warm excrements in an old dovecote, 
a thousand dreams burn softly inside me, 
and at times my sad heart is like sap-wood bled 
on by the dark yellow gold of its sweats. 

Then, when I have carefully swallowed my dreams, 
I turn, having drunk thirty or forty tankards, 
and gather myself together to relieve bitter need: 
As sweetly as the Saviour of Hyssops 
and of Cedar I piss towards dark skies, 
very high and very far; 
and receive the approval of the great heliotropes.
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