The poet was an notorious drinker of Absinthe,
but only for its artistic value.
His mother kept three foetuses,
from her three miscarried pregnancies,
preserved in clear glass jars within her pantry.
She would visit them as she reached for her spices, her oil.
Under the spell of the drink the artist attacked, first his mother,
and then the jars.
He could not appreciate the melancholy which dominated her life.
He preferred drinking to pickled babies.
His heart was broken time after time,
and he himself aggravated his lovers to the point of catastrophe.
His alcoholism and his mental instability lead to a murder attempt on one such hapless love.
Five years confined to fear,
separated from the world,
he promised no more to kiss the “Green Fairy”.
Set free from prison,
he laboured steadily on his poetry,
But consumed in “La Belle Époque”,
he returned to his old customs.
He soon became art himself.
A well known pathetic figure sitting alone in Le Cafe Francois,
or on the Boulevard Saint-Michel,
partaking Absinthe after Absinthe.