The inverted bodies hang themselves, Interpenetrated, peeled For us to write riven songs upon their skins! Sullied sufferers hang themselves from a glass cross 200 floors toward heaven. Bitter Christs! Loudly you fly from flames to the asphalt, Absent-minded of your mission: Your religion has not yet arisen. We may yet decide to be extinguished. The gossipy mendacity of the Left Aligning with bin Ladens To win the miniaturized Bickerfest with the neighbor; neighbor Same as them, hung from the cross the same. Orange flares Line the flyway to infinity Or incineration. Coda Here's a brave man, indifferent to kicks, Somber under DC's browning ferns, Ready to kill the willful killers And treat his countrymen, confused As the winter-wind infused weathervane Like a drunken beloved.
A reindeer head and human breast Prove hunger no mere beast But a yearning, foreign fire all, great To least, carry to life's living feast. Tarry constellations stoop to whisper In ears sharp as fine feathers on a shaft What makes the unbrave whimper And holds the brave man fast: Undulant hills are too lonely To have what raves in every heart-- Too unready to live solely And nurture the dark feast that lasts. Eat my starry heart, my body and my brain! Nothing in Nature's self-renewing fast Can feed what hungering thought may gain From imagination's last and least. With a light, clipped clop Dunning into bright bell the dull rock, The man with reindeer-headed top Hunts the night, nor heeds the cock Rawing dawn into existence, The one near star whose agony stoops To burn us hungry out of inward pense With overwhelming wilderness for crop.