Spleen LXVIII
After
Baudelaire
When the sky weighs heavy and worn like a
lid
On the oppressed spirit prey to depression,
And when the horizon too embraces its
circumference
It will then grant us a day as dark as any
night.
When the earth is transformed into a humid
cell
Where hope, like some scattered bat,
departs
Ricocheting off the walls with timid wings
And dashes its head against the rotting
ceiling.
When the rain spreads its immense
jurisdiction
Like some vast liquid prison with fluid
bars,
And whole clusters of mute arachnid
Come to lay their eggs in the deepest
recesses of your heart.
Bells suddenly will peal out in a fury
And throw into the sky their atrocious
tolling,
Just as the spirits of the damned, without
any culture,
Start to opine on social media.
