I lost myself - moving from home
to unknown, to seeds sewn,
seeds wild and lovely, and perhaps not in wisdom;
but in beauty.
My self had dangled from your back pocket
like a rag-doll,
off the edge of your limericks,
your repetition and your rhyme,
your song out of time. Too long. Too long now.
I'll show you how,
I dove into the deep when I dove with her.
Now, right now,
to Hell with you.
You, you children of darkness.
William Blake will show you how.
Listen! Listen up, I'll say it loud!
Listen, you pirates of morals, you makers of locks
and locksmiths, you bastards, you blockheads:
I aim to bury you.
(Also, apologies to Emily Dickinson.)