Man and Bottle

The mind is the great poem of winter, the man.

Who, to find what will suffice,

Destroys romantic tenements

Of rose and ice

In the land of war. More than the man, it is

A man with the fury of a race of men,

A light at the centre of many lights,

A man at the centre of men.

It has to content the reason concerning war,

It has to persuade that war is part of itself,

A manner of thinking, a mode

Of destroying, as the mind destroys.

An aversion, as the world is averted

From an old delusion, an old affair with the sun.

An impossible aberration with the moon,

A grossness of peace.

It is not the Snow that is the quill, the page.

The poem lashes more fiercely than the wind.

As the mind, to find what will suffice, destroys

Romantic tenements of rose and ice.