The way that the character of Fortinbrass just arrives, suddenly, at the very end of Hamlet. The intrusion of the real.


For Charles Baudelaire

I do not know you now, or like you, nor
Did I first know or like you, I admit.
It’s not for me to furbish and restore
Your name: if I take up the cause for it,

It’s that we both have known the exquisite
Joys of two feet together pressed: His, or
Our whores’! He, nailed; they, swooning in love’s fit,
Madly anointed, kissed, bowed down before!

You fell, you prayed. And so did I, like all
Those souls whom thirst and hunger, yearningly,
Shining with hope, urged on to Calvary!

–Calvary, righteous, where–here, there–our fall,
In art-contorted doubts, weeps its chagrin.
A simple death, eh? we, brothers in sin.



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