Don't believe a thing my detractors say.
They might say that I am a child or a fool,
or a magician, ---
Ragged tents, broken drums, patches
on his black coat, but look what a deadly dance he's dancing
on the pupils of her eyes, onlookers aren't fooled, they laugh
but the girl will hear no reason oh how she ails from this dose
of illusion;---Don't believe them.
Hey you revilers, look,
look with what ease I hold up the three worlds---
on the little finger of my left hand.
The darkness, the seas, hills all look on amazed,
You, only you, have forgotten the language of surprise!
Come on into my house, and see what a wondrous house I keep.
The roof overhead---see, but no walls have I on the sides,
(Bounded by walls all round, dreams and phlegm in your hearts,
marking age on your fingers, drawing fancy pictures on walls,
carefully you guys will live!)
While look in my house breezes of all kinds
like faithful retainers move around, brush away cobwebs,
test colors on cornices, busy day and night.
I sit in my wall-less room and paint on the girl's pupils,
Much easier this than making pictures without.
Published May 5, 2002