Uncertainty Leading to Certainty
The London fog was lush, more lush than French
Fogs anywhere, more plush than Paris fogs
At least. It bordered on the louche, its stench
A prophecy of LA’s stringent smogs.
Verlaine remarked that London’s murk was worse,
That Leicester Square’s pollution was more dull
Than Paris’s, more like a sickly curse,
More like contamination of a skull
And crossbones sort. But he and Rimbaud found
A hideout in this Camden camouflage
Wrapped round them as a blanket to confound
Their pasts. It made a misty, distant cage
Aux folles for them away from sanity.
It gave them space for their humanity.