I am fearfully and wonderfully made
  fearfully
    genetically
      encoded and structured
  wonderfully
    lovingly
      shaped by the Artist's hand

In the beginning, Chaos was all, 
	only the Hardy survived
Chaos reigned on, in all its might -- 
	until the Mechanic arrived.
Combing his ape-hair, adjusting his cap, 
	scanning the Waste all around,
The mechanic pulled out his axe and his wrench
And set his tools on the ground.
		"I can bring order from all of this mess,
		 I'll make all these trees into towns;
		 I'll build a castle on top of that hill
		 And then find some kings for my crowns."

He Structured the Chaos, paved many fields, 
	sat down and set out the Law
Order took over -- he knew it was right -- 
	he structured all that he saw.
Planting the hedges, cutting the grass, 
	putting the trees in a row,
The Mechanic captured some rabbits and wrens, 
And on his lawns let them go.
		"Chaos is captured, he's bound by my work,
		 The right-angle now rules the day.
		 But now I am lonely, there's no-one but me
		 And Chaos doesn't care anyway."

-clik-
We are sorry
	(my God, my God, why have..)
Your call
	(..dead, and we have killed..)
Cannot be
	(..only on the firm foundation of unyeilding despair..)
Completed
	(..accidental collocations of atoms..)
As dialed
	(what forest? I can't see because of all these..)
Please hang up
	(..we're waiting for Godot..)
And try your call
	(..there is no good nor..)
Again
	(this is a..)
Recording. Have a nice
-clik-

I have turned my back to
You
 And not my face. Though
 You
  Taught me again
  And again, I
  Would not listen
  Or respond
  To discipline.
  I have provoked
  You
   By all the evil I
   Have done.	
                     (Jer. 32:32-33)

I suffer always
From the creeping malaise
Of slow-breeding pride.
  Like a leech,
     Tapeworm,
        Distended mosquito
It sucks me dry of
 Righteousness.
Fill me up Lord,
  Make my cup over
                 flow
With the glory of
You
 In me, your
 Rivers of living water
  Cool to a dry
     And thirsty
        Heart

Welcome to Zenadu, your
  Total Entertainment Centre
your wildest dreams
 fufilled and your
 Name
in chaser lights --
   we'll help you
  forget
     the gritty world
using our
 Audio-Video-Compu-Fun
   Automatic System
 in its sleek black casing
and low powerful hum.
    Watch the hollow plastic
            bikini-clad
               dancers but
     don't
  hug them - that's the
Luxury Package
        (on sale this month)

This is Zenadu.
  Our proprietor is dead
        (we think he was murdered)
but his son is
   A Superstar
        (we think he has a beard)
lost somewhere among the
 maze of circuits and sequins
  with John Wayne as his
   sidekick
        ("Surely this must be the Son..")
and a cardboard sunset
 painted by our diligent staff
  ready and waiting for his exit.

your pillow remembers
your restless dreams
with the tear-stains it cradles.
  and long is the night
the moon hanging weary
and you are half in love
with easeful death;
the horses of the night pace slowly,
                                    slowly,
past your moated grange

and there is no firm standing
  against the wind, hair
and dress blown sinuously
back, not on this blasted heath
where the air
       hangs
      stagnant
and there is nothing to fight
  but yourself
   and your memories

  and the sibyl's undead moan
longing, longing with
  ancient ancient anguish
echoes
  faintly
    through the padded mists

and i try once more to cross the moat
  but all this bright armour
is heavy unto drowning
  and I'm not the one expected
       anyway.

I want to be a dinosaur
  lumbering ponderously
   through humid forest
  casually chewing a leaf
   before I lumber on
I want to be
  a big, unthinking
    mountain of moving
 dinosaurness and I want
  to love a green leaf and
    the steamy sunlight
 and the thunder of 
   my foot-
        falls
I want to have a hide
  of toughest lizard-
   leather
               and 
I want to be
             a dinosaur.

The applause is the worst
 because
      it ends.
After the backslapping, Congratulations
Good job, You're the best, Great stuff,
      The lights go out,
          the roar dies,
              and the people,
          wrapping coats and cares
          tightly around themselves,
              talking about
             food,
               sleep,
             and tomorrow,
                       walk away.

       Then the harsh critic laughs
      Strides the dim, empty stage,
     And, grinning, begins his
    Loud, leering litany
   Of failure
  As I sit
 Alone.