(after Horace Ode 1.34 Parcus deorum cultor)
I do still pray, but like a little kid
I only shut one eye to think of God:
The other eye’s possessed by poetry
and glaring at my mates who’re obsessed too.
Being Catholic, mea culpa, I retrace
my steps across familiar ground, although
you’d get a coach and horses through the hole
in faith that until now has served me well.
The creative course I’ve taken makes me reel
then shakes me to the core. I’m being crowned
by the tidal wave of knowledge in my head.
Yes, I’ve gained an insane wisdom, but I’m lost
and the instability’s led me straight to hell
where I’m dizzied in a labyrinth of learning,
by the twists and turns of too much information.
It’s more than I can bear without God’s help.
For only God has power to ring the changes
ensure the first is last and last is first.
With one shrill cry, sweet chance can snatch the ivy
from the laureate’s head and crown the little man.