Rose Thou Art Ecstatic

She sinks down under the weight of stolen kisses,

Her wings a petrol spectrum of helplessness,

Flustering in the furious wind of gravity’s angel.

Icon for our times, this ruby crow descending,

Spirit of a tarnished, deconstructed Christ,

All goodness wiped from her lips

In the rub of vinegar rags.

Purblind, a cascade of platitudes, a parachute

Of the emperor’s finest silk: she crash lands,

Junked out on chemistry, crater-eyed and oblivious.

Read more of Dee Rimbaud's poetry

Check out Dee Rimbaud's books

Return to Main Menu