from Heart of Love
Beneath this burning sun there is no rest
and I have felt the primal pull of death
borne in the blood, and carried by the flesh.
To whom the fate of Ares be
romanced by Rome, inconstancy
shall mistress and affections be.
Yet sacred consecration limns the hall
knit with the flaming Presence, and the Fall:
menorah, and strange creatures mount the wall.
For once and twice she will not lift,
the soul to sell, the eye to thrift.
See fallen in a dreadful supplication
the son of Terah, pleading mediation
magnificient, and in that adoration
beseeching holy jealousy
divine from Sodom's infamy
the remnant of the ministry.
She is the indispensable heiress
of untransfigured Adam in her dress
wedlocked in an impossible duress
with her more awful paramour
where the Almighty trod before
inscribing spirits with his Law.
The flaming trophy of the gods' damnation
the selfsame flower of our liberation
to set our family assets in fixation:
to light the unborn martyrs' pyre
for conscience' sake, and for the buyer -
undying tribe of Moloch's fire!
Come warm our metaphysics, god of death.