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

  • excerpt from FAT ALBERT’S OUTPATIENT FOLK CLINIC, 110 pages, $17.99
  • my books http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM
  • My Ebooks
  • own the book -> “A coffeehouse, café as society…”Acid wit, deep insight, humor, powerful metaphor, intelligence…. A smooth ride on a bumpy road, with side trips into unseen hollows of the human experience…. What else do you need to know? An excellent read, worth sharing far and wide… More, please….”
  • Prose poems that are a paean to Musicians, Writers, Artists, & Wingnuts: to folksingers, the troubled and disturbed, open mic nights everywhere. The poet made it out alive from Fat Albert’s. A satiric, and loving, tribute to open mic nights everywhere, whether in coffeehouses, on campus, or in living-rooms of the desperately demented.

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