On Stirring the Pot

The radiance! A brace of rich
Imaginations running wild
Through daisy fields without a stitch.

And what of you, quixotic child?
Are you a second Joan of Arc,
Or Dor-o-thy, the Meek and Mild?

When running naked, only stark
Will do. Divestiture requires
As much of tinder as of spark.

It's not the weak who fan the fires.
The souls pressed hard against the mold
Know nothing of their own desires.

They wind up winding down as cold
As old refrigerator coils,
Their aspirations pigeonholed.

Until the stuff you're stirring boils,
Nobody knows how hot you've turned,
How plagued with disarray your toils.

Look all about as books are burned.
See how the faces radiate
The sum of what mankind has learned:

We're put on Earth to procreate.
One scratch won't satisfy an itch.
God may be good but greed is great.

[First published in Poetry Magazine]