Against A Sickness: To The Female Double Principle God

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.