by Julian X  /  poetry  /  17 Aug 2007
That old virtue of unlimited contradiction.
The trick of logic is soon learned.
Substitute the obvious for the random.
That Medieval propensity for false modesty.
Italian patrons watch crucified Christ by the Corinthians.
Holy men on the crapper, urinating prophets.
We measure enlightenment by the level of neuroses.
Those mansions of forests, cathedrals of leaves.
“Folk singer here tonight” emblazed in neon.
We carry compact discs to the ruins.
Such statements make me nervous, I coldly profess.
If Heaven and Hell be married, America is the child.
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