WEBVTT

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This poem is called, "Gods."

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"Sometimes, it occurs to
me in the moonlit stillness

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of the summer night, that
Dionysus will come and take you

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from me.

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He will wrest your half-willing
body away to fields

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not far from here.

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Disconsolingly close,
where you will gaspingly

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love the god of
passion and wine,

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thinking of me fleetly in
a minim of sorrow's song.

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What else me the
lover of someone

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as beautiful as you expect?

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The gods are
besotted with beauty.

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In my roughness, I cry.

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I bawl.

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A two day calf in the
bitter Nevadan gale.

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I too am mythological.

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Dear woman, when you are
bruised, and bleeding,

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and shaken, and indubitably
pregnant with holiness,

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will you come back
to me even so to calm

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my fury that can have
no expression for fear

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of the fate of heaven
blasting me into nothing?

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To soothe my horror with your
bleeding broken presence?

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Maybe together, hand in hand,
touching experimentally,

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we may find in our
ghost-hood some shabby issue

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of tissue of humanity.

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Still grave and somehow
calmly in our humiliation."

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[APPLAUSE]

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