It’s not easy living with the Gods.
No amount of graffito agitprop
Can destroy civility’s thread,
As if they must live these dark lives of
Excess, fret and disputation without knowing
How the inevitable balance will
Inevitably come out of the madness
No matter how hard they try
To be on the wrong side of everything but history;
Harmoniousness just flows, the doors open and close
In perfect time, the singing breaks out when the woman
Enters the salon. The flap of pigeon wings arrests the
melody
But it adjusts, always, through the riffling of coffee
cups,
Deep inquisitive cackles, the padding of the Athens cats
Clapping together inevitably with heels. An empty field
Between burned out roofs will open to a spiral stair
Dancing with the moon, weeds waving in tune. It starts
Just late enough, and ends only a moment too soon.
Things become so simple, when everything can be explained
But the pain one feels, and the way that it appeared is
Burned away, the many truths placed before the one.
No matter how irregular the tiles appear
There’s always a pattern. One they cannot escape,
This harmony balanced on the head of a pin. Such balance
As is required when the mistakes of humans must be evaded.
