Two Poems by Yahia Lababidi
For Rimbaud
Could it be that, from the start
the thing he sought, this demon-angel,
was always just outside the pageThat, after swimming the length of the alphabet,
with fine gills and deranging senses, he created
an opening for others, but a trap for himself?If so, then slipping through those watery bars
was imperative, a chastened mysticism –
and freedom to write in the air, to be human.
Fanciful Creators
What fanciful creators we are:
bestowing shock absorbers on cars
sprinkling tenderizer on meats
and stitching wrinkle-resistant shirtsSuch wishful thinking, this
giving away what we desire.
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