I am the Empire in the last of its decline, That sees the tall, fair-haired Barbarians pass,--the while Composing indolent acrostics, in a style Of gold, with languid sunshine dancing in each line. -Paul Verlaine, "Melancholy"
I am the Empire, in decline. The elm tree is yellowing; the rain-arm is broadcasting from the cloud station.
I am the once-loved voice, now a tired smear of memory; the ghost of a market thrill, a bed of smoke, a red register.
I am the Barbarian, grown fat after the stuttering blonde pyres are stilled: finger-flickers of ash. I am the white noise nocturne
after the rerun is over. I am the cathode ray, the scent in the glass. I am the Empire, in decline.