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A POEM FOR DAPHNE, NO. 117 by Duane Locke
published in Volume 9, Issue 2 on April 15th, 2002

So admired by the drugged, absinthed, syphilitic Baudelaire
Are still there,
High up, distant-vaporous,
To be loved
By women
Who spent most of their lives in kitchens or brothels.

This is what clouds are for, not rain,
To be
The only lovers of Baudelaire,
And the only lovers
Of these housewives who spent their lives in kitchens,
Or these whores who spend their lives in brothels.

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