From: Amara Graps (amara@amara.com)
Date: Mon Oct 28 2002 - 14:15:06 MST
(For Spike)
I hear the violoncello or man's heart's
complaint,
I hear the keyed cornet, it glides
quickly in through my ears, it
shakes mad-sweet pangs through
my belly and breast.
I hear the chorus....it is a grand-
opera....this indeed is music!
A tenor large and fresh as the creation
fills me,
The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring
and filling me full.
I hear the trained soprano....she
convulses me like the climax of my
love-grip;
The orchestra, whirls me wider than
Uranus flies,
It wrenches such ardors from me, I did
not know I possessed them,
It throbs me to gulps of the farthest
down horror,
It sails me....I dab with bare feet
....they are licked by the indolent
waves,
I am exposed....cut by bitter and
poisoned hail,
Steeped amid honeyed morphine
....my windpipe throttled in fakes
of death,
At length let up again to feel the
puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being.
[excerpt from Walt Whitman: _Song of Myself_, 1867]
Happy Birthday, my dear Evil Twin :-)
-- *********************************************************************** Amara Graps, PhD email: amara@amara.com Computational Physics vita: ftp://ftp.amara.com/pub/resume.txt Multiplex Answers URL: http://www.amara.com/ *********************************************************************** "There's only one thing more beautiful than a beautiful dream, and that's a beautiful reality." --Ashleigh Brilliant
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