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.