Song For A Revolutionary Love

O throw it away, throw it all away on the wind:

first let the heavenly foliage go,

and page by pride the good books blow;

scatter smug angels with your hand.

Undo the doings of the fathering age:

chuck the broken acropolis out,

fling the seven wonders after that

with struts and props of the holy stage.

Disrupt the calendars next; send the duteous

packing without a compass or scale

to chart the measure of fortune's wheel;

let nothing be left to swaddle us.

Unravel antique samplers, unwind the clocks,

till unruly children stream down the sky

and old maids on impromptu petticoats fly

with begonia and building blocks.

Now empty boxes of the hoodwinked dead

upon the pouring air until

god hears from his great sunstruck hell

the chittering crackpots that he made.

Then hurl the bare world like a bluegreen ball

back into the holocaust

to burn away the humbug rust

and again together begin it all.