20

You Were Right, Heraclitus

The insanities of angel and ape

are not repealed by coiling time.

Our long condition, they shape-shift

with the monumentality of stars

or genes—that double helix twisting like our galaxy upon itself—

folding within our future the living past.

And in our deep heart we play them endlessly:

Apollo standing cool-eyed, marble-veined on his pedestal,

watching the murderous god that staggered, drunk, from Chios

to share his Pythian sibyl;

Blake’s shitless lamb and scarecrow tiger, equally

unspent, whether sentimentalized or mocked.

Forever they guide us on the spiral stair we climb

through hot jungle or over abstract mountaintop

as fashions change.

And dare we pause one moment?

Live one hour poised perfectly

between the beast and the Beyond?