Anthropic Rimbaud

Rimbaud is 10 to the power of 500 potential word clusters massing in Parisian night

it's not possible that this rain could fall here at this time

not even one of these words brought here by no mistral will never not fall nowhere near

and no one out late on a drunked up bender of black glass streetfalls could ever hit this combination by chance not by mere drumming of dead fingers on the tables at the rue des chiens

bodies of the impossible
drift

deep in dark river
trailing digits
mud
all of nothing

mouthless

ugly fact:
nature
a dead cat
wake all night

songs of itself
no longer
roaring

over pebbles
.
.
.
.
.
.

(les pierres/les cloches/les silences)