O Happy, Happy Each Man Whom Predestined

For You Are Abstract, Making No Mistake, Slurring No Word In The Rhythm You Make, The Poem, Writ In The Air.

Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your Heaven Less Hell.

My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble, My Face Fixed In Its Marble Mask.

Escape From The Power Of The Hunting Pack, And To Know That Wisdom Is Best And Beauty Sheer Holiness.

No Poetic Phantasy But A Biological Reality, A Fact: I Am An Entity Like Bird, Insect, Plant Or Sea-plant Cell; I Live; I Am Alive.