Dee Rimbaud (Scotland): Three (Interconnected) Poems


A fake tan, you smile and talk of double glazing,
Gesticulating carelessly,
Rose wine perilously swirling in cut crystal:
Aching to be absorbed,
To be at one with the thick pile
Of the carpet softly underfoot...


Black cascade, a fragile note hung trembling
In the thick white air: a swansung requiem
To the degeneration of myriad miraculous visions.
Then tell me, what did you see before you spiralled
So recklessly into the abyss?


Did you not once allude, that through the cracks in the world
Other possibilities might make themselves manifest?