10-17-2015, 05:32 PM
SONG OF THE MORTAL GOD
1
Don't patronize me--
isn't this how things should go?
Like the fungus
flowering on a lion's body,
one's creation
becomes the canvas of another.
2
How could I rejoice
here at the end of all things?
This is Daniel's dream:
the lion's roar, the voice of kings.
Then it thunders,
matter turning into light.
I was leaning against the darkness
before this mess. And from that height,
you all looked like ants
flying from the flood. But God
always demands an answer:
and I left the moonlit porch,
my piece of night, for a better view.
3
Strange. Every man, every woman,
whatever the cloak, whatever the station,
has a smile
painted on his face
even as he drowns.
We knew this is what you wanted:
you asked for water, we gave you water.
The joke is you're all enjoying it:
like good little ants, you build bridges
out of your own bodies.
Meanwhile, the morning comes.
Black, blind imitation of God,
after the kingdoms come the judgments,
the echoes, the reflections--
And so the solitude of the victor,
the shame of the defeated...
4
There are no lions
in the new world. Only ants
scattered across avenues of ash,
and towering around them,
toadstools. Foolish king
of the hill, what did you hear?
There is nothing to him but fear,
and now you belong
neither to heaven nor to earth.
1
Don't patronize me--
isn't this how things should go?
Like the fungus
flowering on a lion's body,
one's creation
becomes the canvas of another.
2
How could I rejoice
here at the end of all things?
This is Daniel's dream:
the lion's roar, the voice of kings.
Then it thunders,
matter turning into light.
I was leaning against the darkness
before this mess. And from that height,
you all looked like ants
flying from the flood. But God
always demands an answer:
and I left the moonlit porch,
my piece of night, for a better view.
3
Strange. Every man, every woman,
whatever the cloak, whatever the station,
has a smile
painted on his face
even as he drowns.
We knew this is what you wanted:
you asked for water, we gave you water.
The joke is you're all enjoying it:
like good little ants, you build bridges
out of your own bodies.
Meanwhile, the morning comes.
Black, blind imitation of God,
after the kingdoms come the judgments,
the echoes, the reflections--
And so the solitude of the victor,
the shame of the defeated...
4
There are no lions
in the new world. Only ants
scattered across avenues of ash,
and towering around them,
toadstools. Foolish king
of the hill, what did you hear?
There is nothing to him but fear,
and now you belong
neither to heaven nor to earth.