[lit-ideas] Thursday poem

from a collection in progress called "Variations on a Theme by Shelley" 


The "That" of  "Is"

From one argument rise puzzling
and be seen in evil, not for an "if"
or god there:

The ultimate whim, the truly fulfilled,
meaning's own totem, prime essence,
identical supremely conscious justice,
snoopy risk arbitrage plus utter care
[or whatever you call it]
ignores challenging.

Yet the orphic energy of lifespans
which once baffled thought,
and to numberless dreamland domes
was an axiom -- peoples here!
How would you or a star sum up,
if to a concocted appraisal
all silence were blank?

A cunning weakness elects
to connect the marked desires:
your straightforward triumph.
Illustrated comes paradise
in that hedonistic afterwards.

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