The world as stolen contemplation
That strange gay man (this strange gay man)
refutes the right side of history. Napoleon
with countless dead invented such a thing.
The greatest men philosophize themselves
into corners and cloak their bodies
in applause. The nonsense on stilts
old wigged Englishmen cobbled together
dies beneath the cloth—and poor
humanity (you have a head as I have a head)
seeks always the evidence of God
where we have none. We are each of us
priests and siblings and dogs
before the libraries Babel writ in,
mired in talent we applaud, eager
as the young men of a hundred hills
every grandparent sired within
his history. And that repeats itself
as we do the strange tongues of antiquity
we birth again, and again, and again.
Civilization considers itself revamped
as all the Earth conspires against it,
as all the venerable vegetations
sprout and leap on and choke its theories.
How cheap is a profound young man
as he sells himself in a shapen crowd
of profound young men weary as he is.