You have seen, on plate-glass fronts, The frosted, shapeless letters. Kant: If a lion could talk, we would not Understand him. If we could read This, we would not understand it. Last night some alien acid beast, Entirely sulfuric in metabolism, Odious to God and all the universe, Slithered by and wrote its name In its own burning fingertip grease. Lord! We clutch our coats about us, And move rapidly on. But a thing I didn’t know: today I saw a man Buffing it off a window with a rotor. I had assumed the glass was totaled. Order emerges; acid meets base; Beast is prey as well as predator; God is often cruel but never boring.