that hermetic world proved to be robust
reality - liquid as laudanum
and illumined by crepuscular trust
in memories. who could be less maudlin
than Poe’s Man of the Crowd - the flâneur
who never loses the way down someone
else’s reminiscence - the amateur
still practising at oblivion.
take me but not just yet is the rule
of this distention. Satie and Laforgue
dilute regret. anxiety is cruel
after Baudelaire and Kierkegaard
so that annihilation makes no imprint
on water and light - rain without stint.
21 July 2021
I refer to Erik Satie’s Gnossiennes published in 1893.