Dead Mallarmé.
Dead Mallarmé on the steps of the village church.
Dead, dead.
His black poems shriek the night.
Like a stabbed child cloaked in flames.
How miserable his silence!
That priest of solitude.
The terrifying eyes of Eden's grace.
Now he waits.
Dead Mallarmé!
For you I have made myself an angel.
I sing to you on your cross
King of the dregs.
Skeleton among men; man among skeletons.
A life lived with death.
Dead Mallarmé.
The Martyr's cathedral weeps for your poor soul!
Broken by the sun's breathless tidings.
Ash to ash.
Dead Mallarmé!
Oh!