"i am sent back to the soil, to seek some obligation.' rimbaud, a season in hell--all the poems and musings in this portfolio reflect a soul in search of some sort of clarity. he has found it and thus passed on, out of his poetbody into some sort of poetheaven. it is difficult to explain: the writings no longer resemble the spirit of their creator but their reflections, however, still linger in the deepest corners of his poetheart. it is a strange phenomenon but nevertheless very real
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