miron

I am I, old Father Fisheye that begat the ocean, the worm at my own ear, the serpent turning around a tree, I sit in the mind of the oak and hide in the rose, I know if any wake up, none but my death,come to me bodies, come to me prophecies, come all foreboding, come spirits and visions, I receive all, I‘ll die of cancer, I enter the coffin forever, I close my eye, I disappear, I fall on myself in winter snow, I roll in a great wheel through rain, I watch fuckers in convulsion, car screech, furies groaning their basso music, memory fading in the brain, men imitating dogs,I delight in a woman‘s belly, youth stretching his breasts and thighs to sex, the cock sprung inwardgassing its seed on the lips of Yin, the breasts dance in Siam, they sing opera in Moscow, my boys yearn at dusk on stoops, I enter New York, I play my jazz on a Chicago Harpsichord,Love that bore me I bear back to my Origin with no loss, I float over the vomiter thrilled with my deathlessness, thrilled with this endlessness I dice and bury, come Poet shut up eat my word, and taste my mouth in your ear.ALLEN GINSBERG, 1960