Never Forget the Blow

by Jim Kopetz

Your golden bowl is empty
Mr. James.

The Murderer's Wine,
abused in his time.
And Baudelaire laughed as he died.

Rimbaud and Verlaine,
in solace insane,
and laughter muffled by green glass.

To Voltaire and the choir
that enraged his desire
and woke the man inside.

So where are they now?
The infants need howl
and never forget the blow.
Never forget the blow.