Pollution in Delphi

From a state of overstay,

I ache to put my faith in Oedipus (any or all)

for this plague, this unhealthy city,

this strange dare of skilless prophecy, which

wretches from stillness

toward a wilder thing.

 

I never saw them

faced with such open pasture,

cramped with rotting fruit-

the damp impressions of wilted olives,

the relief of sterile earth.

 

the tonic, the decay,

numbs the junctions of my working parts.

This honest germ spreads frantic,

though I have no faith in rapid decomposition.

 

Even such urgent times

cannot excuse the intrusion

of knocking on the oracle’s door before 10.

 

Did I come here for peace,

or a place to breakdown in quiet?

 

Nothing is growing, so it will die out soon.