Classic Poem

A lone, phallic—let's get
phallic out of the way first,
or at least (down, Lawrence, down)
dismucus it a bit—

tower intrigues us. It
appears in dreams, in curst
castles, on seacoasts, on
promontories, wind-bit.

Its gesture of granite,
the gravity reversed,
crushes us upward—stone
by stone to a summit

aimed at the infinite.
So, awfully, was Void pierced
and Creation sown.

Or is God a large rabbit?











Used by permission of author.