“I Am Not”

I am not, but I am in the guise of a god;
My fellows are not, but they dwell in Olympus
Every fourth year and have for millennia compassed
This and other greater lesser boiling mountains in the sod,
These solid clots, the sovereign bloods of this blue planet; this, the present odd
Man out ubiquitous, conspicuous with singles, doubles, trebles, celestial hubris
That out from what it is comes naturally as a holy trust
An incubus of men and angels, and yet another surviving Ichabod
In all of us, and never far from genii; patience waiting in the knowing;
Yes, ingenuous, untried, ever tied to what becomes the untoward
And thus, the Ark now lost to Philistines, venture through the chorus
And the warning, the niggling dark and overbearing mighty forests
Of the childhood, the first in Sodom and last deep cut in Gomorrah, glowing
Still, yet knowing whence we came, we don’t look back, but ever forward.