Hermit's Psalm in the Face of No Danger At All
Hermit’s Psalm in Face of No Danger At All
Unkindly, then, you seek my mountaintop abode
Where trees ne dare to grow
Where flats of dancing bare-feet pound wisps o’saplings down?
Knights, with silver exoskeletons weighted, drown
In waters here that bubble up from desert-cracked and kiln-fired ground.
You sing a dirge.
You sing that my ideal’s dead.
You rise against me.
You want to kill my rosy simplicity,
My solitary community
And rend my boysenberry rosary.
Brandish your daggers!
Your beaten-pony chariots of blood! Curs!
Try, if you dare, to kill God and Nietzsche and Me!
You’ll tumble down the mountainside like scree.
Petrify like wood, for
Grasshoppers and honey are my food
In this shady hermitage atop Mount Trivialus
My skin’s fine with golden dust
Sipping a cool tall speckled sky
Dragging the oasis dry
My psalter’s in 5/8.