Today a poem composed in the conviction that to save our culture we must diminish the role of the political in our lives.
The personal is poetical
The personal is poetical
And not a domain to be ruled
It shatters on contact with power
Slides away from shouts on streets
Seeks out soft silent shelters
Where in a parliament of shadows
Strange freedom speaks its mind.
Then in an unplanned shaft of light
The shattered self reassembles.
It rises in a spiral of words:
Not on the stone columns of Cicero;
Not by Antifa’s fists and fires;
But lifted in light circles out of hell
On the wings of a terrible angel.
