Those subtle insights by the corrupt priests led me astray.
Poetry’s a rare thing, for the sensitive poet
As sensitive as he is, still must be a beautiful creature,
And physically experience the joy of love
Without qualification or jealousy. Poets
Who are too subtle, and prove in their poems
How everything is relative, and holy days and God
Don’t matter, must be asked, “If it’s all relative,
Why does your poetry matter?” Only the beautiful
Can renounce the flesh in a way that pleases the gods.
And yet there are ugly priests. official, and praised,
Who do not renounce the flesh, and with tireless audacity
Assume the ugly is not ugly.
These are the only insights required for poetry.