(untitled), Mellarmé

Because some meat was as at the point of roast
Because the journal detail’d an act of rape
Because on her vile and malformed throat
The servant forgot her collar to tie up

By cause of a bed large as the holiest place
He sees upon the ticking clock an ancient,
Foolish pair and sleeps not & without shame
As leg beneath the sheet glides like a brush

His chill, desiccated woman’s beneath him, idiot
Against her pale breton rubbing his helmet’s
Hairs & labors huffing beyond all sense

And in this, a night without storm of rage,
Are these two beings coupled in sleep; oh
Shakespeare, Dante ’u too! He c’d a born poet.