Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? Oh, yes, quite so, replied the precious soul And, as a cat, you know I am most able To decide anything for myself. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you!
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. Did it make you ache so, leaving me? Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. Are you coming then? This is one of two new ones that have come in this week…Stunning poems, our voices! I am from legends. I am made from adventure, that is my middle name now. Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. I am from the one who thins her own forest with a chainsaw, and from the one who is in love with language. In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean setting in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. I am forged from the riddle bone of my Muse who loves leopard print and ghetto saloons eats chocolate with peanut butter by candlelight, she writes poetry from a red chair at midnight. Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded? I am from the Northern parts of California from more homes than I can count from rolling green hills and grey blue beaches and seagulls that love pepperoni pizza. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generation of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest. Here is one from Sweden…sweet, arrived this morning. Is this then a touch? I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such a wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. I am from enough time for me with enough time for you. Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.
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