On the State
       

Have nothing but a fist in your dream.
Don't waste time with books or monographs.
Punch Christ in the face. Fix the heads neatly
to the gate. Beat every man once

he stops smiling; twice, he stops talking.
Turn on the radio and listen to your mice.
What you want is a quiet state
that consoles itself with metaphysics.

The past never exists, the future never arrived.
There is only you. But you must plan ahead.
You must know a good deal about pr uning,
the first frost, or flood; biblical branches

with spider webs and dew. You will learn
a great love of nature. Your garden in full bloom,
heavy with fruits and sugar. The bees
bringing pollen. Go then, collect your harvest,

before the knuckling of winter. Go then,
examine the stores — dumb with obedience.
You will love this state. What you hear
is silence, and the sound of ferm entation.

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Copyright © 2019 Laurence O'Dwyer All rights reserved
from Tractography
Templar Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission