Graveyards are beautiful at any time of the day while
More beautiful people are enthralled with making love to
One another;
And this is the free sport that no one else cares about,
As I grow fat listening in my little coves at the world
So airing above my throat:
I am like the amphibian ululating for his stewardesses;
And all of this can be trusted,
Because it is just as thoughtless as gambling;
As the fish come gurgling in the lines of their bright-eyed
Nurseries into the open air,
As I have things to tell myself when no one else cares;
And I have been to the lips of mountains,
And I have seen by which passions the highways so encoil,
That the wildernesses are minted:
I have received the frostbitten lips into my ankle,
As I have loved a married woman, who is both strange and
Sincere;
And she is my muse, buying new t-shirts to cover her aching
Breasts to which I wish to afford more children to cause
To leak of life’s milky suckle;
And the world lights up as in a stage of ill-report; and the
Ships melt into their docks, the sailors dreaming of girls and
Mermaids I am sure never existed except for in my bedroom
Under the ceiling fans churning like milkmaids,
Open-breasted and yodeling like Julie Andrews in the coffins
Of the tidiest of the most surreals.
