Chorus for Paul  
   
Great is Diana of the Ephesians:
this is the chant I hear,
a sledge hammer on the ear.
 
My own appreciation
of these moments
damned before my eyes.
 
The ringing of a bell
at Mass in golden tone
planted in her thighs.
 
A Eucharistic knife
through the goddess's eyes.
 
This is fear and monumental dread;
it is terror screaming, Culture's dead:
solid gold turned into lead.
 
A leaden knife
through the goddess's sighs.
 
Great is Diana of the Ephesians:
this is the spell you spit at me,
the battle that was lost in a victory.
 
A palace wall,
an ancient well,
a ship that sails for Tarsus,
no victory for hell.
 
   
Copyright © 1998, 2005 by Robert E. Romanelli PhD