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 I wake up, none
           but my death,
come to me bodies, come to me prophesies, 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 fell 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 breast and sighs to sex,
           the cock sprung inward
gassing its seed on the lips of Yin, the beasts 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.