Oh Radical Dandies of Little Faith!

We poets,

the failed pragmatists,

the cloak and dagger nihilists,

pint driven, punch drunk -

half sunk

madmen.

Grandiloquent monkeys of a primate pomp,

footsteps behind our gods -

somewhere between hither and thither,

both being dust,

both being story,

both being seen in dazed company of the unbeloved.

Gods when we dream,

beggars when we think,

dancing jesuits on our crosses,

insane devils when we drink -

benedictions of faithless seeing when we sleep.

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