ODE

TO VENUS OR JEHOVAH

A bucket of Fury drapes the Sun
out of the skies &

Love still stays, "How can you
criticize art in th'process of

Becoming: it's not You
although Love's
what pours the bucket

of Fury       

    --It is not Fury

Love pours buckets of & still stays
(even) after Love is poured out

--But, I'm an amateur
at life: I was born even before I knew it

not even yet knowing
what my handicap is
I'm HERE waiting

awaiting The Second Coming
(but of Fury not Love)

"O God, this 's a fine mess we're in:

Satan's a complete monster
& God's perfectly insane

... What is there left? but
Beauty for Th'World! (the Moment) and Death

(but not yours which is as ugly
as is anything not one's own)

I wait ...            

  O Autumn! yet

and still no sign in sight
of The Second

Coming & whether you love her or
fight her

yet will she come
(to understand you) a little
like planning to dream a dream

--Here's Depth!! within my
mirrored eyes (into which I can look
deeply enough out of their depth

or) we can build evenings & mornings,
noons & nights & void them with ideas (like rubber
stamps)--What is there left but

for us to appreciate Th'Absurdity?

where we barely have just enough time
to achieve an understanding (of how little
time's left): so great is it that it fills up

all our sense--animal sense
& divine sense, or) while we wear seasons

around the neck like Justice's ties ...
a commanding high top & bushy tails,

underwear's coral, cornucopia for
a hat, a stick's my ego &

I beat wide-eyed The Bushes of my wildgrowth!

(Brain) trying to make
up (savage) a Path there-on which I can lay
claim (to have urbanely found) towards

Somewhere & but sometimes Th'Brain

becomes so stunningly frightened (awe-
fully) and will arise! so beauti-

fully! in a fright --A precarious Flight

from which my tongue of steel
must trip it down again handsomely

to the firm, uncomely earth
smelling of gunpowder

spent  &

It's a tragic Noon
To watch The Moon

awaiting The Second Coming.