Maybe I’m crazy, and my parts
Are scattered still – didnt gather
Em when form was passin out
The window of the giver,
So I’m looking for derangement
To bring me landward back
Through logic’s cold moon air
Where water everywhere
Appears from magic gems
And Asphasiax the Nymph
of India by the Sea
Dances princely mincing
churly jargots
In the oral eloquent air
of tents’
Canopied majesty,
Ten thousand Buddhas
Hiding Everywhere –
How can I be crazy
Even here?
-or wait
Maybe I’m an Agloon
doomed to be spitted
on the igloo stone
of Some North mad