_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.
Sep 30, 2022
Sep 30, 2022 at 1:53 PM UTC
_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.
