Christopher Rizzo, one poem


“Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai” —Rimbaud


So Molière’s character didn’t know he had been speaking prose all his life

& the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him

of unrequited love’s fate

while surrealism runs through the streets of Mexico I hear

although I assume the same about France although it’s impractical realism

ce truc n’est pas une hallucination, je te le dit May flowers do their evil

in this season of hell empty love’s crushing fate

the way children pick flowers & leave them crumpled beside a curb

another reminder that death horizons life

eventually you reach it

& sometimes cigar smoke is just the Cuba I’ve never reached

although scent’s a chain of molecules sparking words

another chain of molecules

a throat transforms into sound’s enactments

of curiosity & bliss

not prose all of our lives we should speak ourselves

which turns itself out poetically & not platonically

despite requite

of curiosity & bliss I love talking with you

as though I can hear the symphony a sun makes

despite the dead of lightless space

which is far too platonically prosaic I hear

inside our sun’s a spooky orchestra

the beauty of which never exceeds itself

to reach our ears here