Poetry, lyrics and prose of Dean Baker

I saw Christ, and I saw the Rose.

I miss the scent and the peace; but I refuse
the return to the garden, the false Paradise.
There have always been too many Rimbauds.

No room in the garden, no space in Paradise –
plenty of opportunity among the thorns.

On the lookout for gun runners, starved midgets,
ballerinas perched upon the precipice.

Among the shadows, among the smugglers, within the walls
of the castle, beside the thorns: the rose.

And inside the Rose, now too many Arthur Rimbauds.

©Dean Baker

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