Against A Sickness To The Female Double Principle God

A poem by Alan Dugan

She said: “I’m god and all

of this and that world and love

garbage and slaughter all the time

and spring once a year. Once a year

I like to love. You can adjust

to the discipline or not,

and your sacrificial act

called ‘Fruitfulness in Decay’

would be pleasing to me

as long as you did it with joy.

Otherwise, the prayer ‘Decay,

Ripe in the Fruitfulness’

will do if you have to despair.”

Prayer

You know that girl of yours

I liked? The one with strong legs,

grey eyes, weak in the chest

but always bouncing around?

The one they call “The Laugh,”

“The Walk,” “That Cunt,” “The Brain,”

“Talker, Talker, Talker,” and

“The Iron Woman”? Well,

she’s gone, gone gone, gone

gone gone to someone else,

and now they say that she,

“My Good,” “My True,” “My Beautiful,”

is sick to her god-damned

stomach and rejects all

medication. What do you do

to your physical praisers that

they fall apart so fast

or leave me? She needs help now,

yours or that prick’s,

I don’t know which.

“I have worked out

my best in belief

of the rule, ‘The best

for the best results

in love of the best,’

or, ‘To hell with it:

I am just god:

it’s not my problem.”‘

I will sit out this passion

unreconciled, thanks: there are

too many voices. My visions

are not causal but final:

there’s no place to go to

but on. I’ll dance at the ends

of the white strings of nerves

and love for a while, your slave.

Oh stupid condition, I drink

to your Presences in hope of sleep

asleep, and continuity awake.

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• This Moment, Yearning and Thoughtful. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Dust was Once the Man. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Day, O Soul. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Compost. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Think of the Soul. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Thick-Sprinkled Bunting. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• These, I, Singing in Spring. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• There was a Child went Forth. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• The Wound-Dresser by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• That Shadow, my Likeness. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• That Music Always Round Me. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Tests. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Tears. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Still, though the One I Sing. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• States! by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Starting from Paumanok. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spontaneous Me. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spirit whose Work is Done. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spirit That Form’d This Scene. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Sparkles from The Wheel. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman

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