I spend my life sitting - like an angel <br />in the hands of a barber - a deeply fluted beer mug <br />in my fist, belly and neck curved, <br />a Gambier pipe in my teeth, under the air <br />swelling with impalpable veils of smoke. <br /> <br />Like the warm excrements in an old dovecote, <br />a thousand dreams burn softly inside me, <br />and at times my sad heart is like sap-wood bled <br />on by the dark yellow gold of its sweats. <br /> <br />Then, when I have carefully swallowed my dreams, <br />I turn, having drunk thirty or forty tankards, <br />and gather myself together to relieve bitter need: <br />As sweetly as the Saviour of Hyssops <br />and of Cedar I piss towards dark skies, <br />very high and very far; <br />and receive the approval of the great heliotropes.<br /><br />Arthur Rimbaud<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-prayer-3/
