After Rimbaud on/ the Moonwalk
Apartment one
is vacant.
What vanity, to think
my friend and
I could last.
Chartreuse dawn, mystical river, we laugh
at the morning joggers.
What arrogance, to
think
my heart’s
summer was an amber crow in
an eternal film noir.
The Guermantes Way
A train to Brussels, a French
song, May
there be moonlight when I a-
-wake
In the river of 862 diamond-mirrors
Meadowlarks, and a few stars
with
long names, names
you make up.
We’ll take three footsteps. Aphrodite will breathe. We’ll bring Rimbaud’s
rib-basket to live on forever.
Michael Keenan’s first book of poems, Translations On Waking In An Italian Cemetery, will be released by A-Minor Press in the spring of 2014. His writing has appeared in the PEN Poetry Series, Fence, Alice Blue Review, RealPoetik, NYQ Reviews, inter|rupture, Shampoo, Paul Revere’s Horse, and Arsenic Lobster, among others. Michael currently talks to people at Columbia University.