i believe you, i
believe you. but 
tho you be the fool, 
and me the hanged 
man, let us both 
transfer to magician, 
it would be nice 
to run our own world. 

what else is there 
to offer you or myself, 
save myself as 
man--as for you a 
self as woman you are-- 
and about this we, like 
others, over-read, under- 
read, do every damned thing 
save live.
             the way out 
is via the door; how is it 
no one will use this 
method? confucius asked 
a long time ago.

                   put pants on the piano legs, 
                   secret holes in the nightshirts, 
                   have two women all over you, or 
                   three men. the body has apertures, 
                   the hands and the tongue reach out; 
                   why is it we so rarely satisfy or 
                   are happy ourselves ? this is no 
                   simple question of potency, it is 
                   mass communications in the raw.