Madness is masked by the appearance of a will for experience, and this will is disguised by a derangement. The inability to survive comes from excess of desire, which goes in many directions at the same time. The collapse felt during exhaustion keeps the mind from surpassing desire, and exacerbates it. Failure is the measure of the wager. Exhilaration is the promise of depression.
Poetry is denied by displacement.
The poet is no longer destroyed language reshaping a false world through deconstructed symbols, but is the man, who, weary of the game, wants to make a real conquest from this realm of madness. These two moments merge into one, as with poetry. Rimbaud's greatness is having led poetry to its own failure. Poetry is not a knowledge of one's self.