Shocks a public flair into my pubic hair . . .
Infects me with a very pleasing disease.
Until this bosom and I should part,
when I no longer have a Here,
I shall see cathedrals when I see trees
And streams and plants and soil.
(The Earth is worth her weight in gold,
And we have already inherited it.)
I first burst forth when her surface ceased to boil,
And both of us are older than the word old:
I from the chain of life, she chained to an oval orbit.
We are both wizards in our prisons.
She, locked in the heavens, dances,
And locked within her grasp I learn her dancing magic.
On every level, visions and visions and visions:
Micro and macro in swinging-string trances.
I can't stop saying it: Life is music!