Classic Poem

O Christianity,
Steeped in the blood of millions of men
Yet singing, singing of weird, blanched sacrifices,
Of peace beyond regrets and jealousies—
The steady lambent resonance
Of bell on bell multiplied
Within a childlike Sunday of the heart—
Or trusting handshakes overawing lust,
And friendship innocent
As the never-failing tryst
Of skies and orchards when the wind dies down:
O Christianity,
Pygmies spit upon you,
Shallow children make you
A grave that waits for restless thought.
Evil men sit in your churches,
Seek relief for wizened, fearful spirits.
Christianity, you need
A half sardonic, half compassionate
Poem ripped from a peering forbearance
More real than that which kneels within your bible!

Salvation-Army girl,
Your face is a pansy frightened into white,
So lightly curled around the edges,
So precisely separated
Into the petals of smiles,
That hallelujahs leaping from it
Seem the prank of some ventriloquist!
Why does life forever
Fasten incongruities
On flowers real or symbolized?
Cut asters in a stained-glass bowl,
Shorn violets pinned to a bosom,
Clipped hyacinths within a hearse,
They are no more forlorn and out of place
Than your pansy-like head
In the doleful midst of hymns and roll-calls . . . .

Salvation-Army woman,
You are fat and middle-aged—
Adjectives describing
The false end of a story
That continues in your eyes and mouth
And in the movements of your hands.
Your eyes are poisoned youth—
The light within them barely misses death.
Your lips are sensual moans
Visible beneath the pretext
Of your singing love for Christ.
Your strong hands stroke the air
And in a dream they find
The missing texture of flesh …
Rattle your tambourine.
Shout: “Glo-o-ory be-e to Go-o-od!”
Beg for coins and conversions.
Cowards have but two choices—
Naked pleasure beneath a screen of lies,
Or self-denial rising to madness
And crying, swinging, twisting
Into every intense
Trick of imagined escape.