faith is a coherent structure
of lies, but the insistent
endless inhuman beauty
of things is incoherent truth
and nobody ever went to jail
for making well-wrought urns
but not by these
shall we come to glory
mumbled the old man squatting
in his handlaid tower
looking out over the sea-churn
high up and foreseeing everything
including its inevitability
.
then standing stretching
walked away from what should
have been the tied-off
end of it all
descended the stairs
stepped over the doorjamb
walked into town
to buy groceries and gin
the traditional unwilling challenger
impassioned, nearly all-powerful
but drunk with it
hardly a friend to humanity
ruining everything like always
.
always doing that one more thing
Image: Robinson Jeffers Hawk Tower, Tor House, Carmel (2008); photo by Celeste Davison, released by her into the public domain.
Your poem’s opening line intrigued me and caught me up in its flow. There is a lot of movement in this of the body and in nature, really like this.
https://goo.gl/J7CUiA
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