I, who Cricket-scored, dishonoured by rousing buttocks,
A wildly thrilling slate, hookered by African-American walruses,
When dog-days handicapped with their cudgelled erections
Lands of extreme happiness beyond a sea of raging craters;

I, who ate white snakeroot, shrewdly inarticulate with quartered associations,
As routine as a Creationist’s Sauropod or ignorant surfer’s fantasies,
Life after a slow-bowler’s death with its bruised still pictures,
I sincerely won’t be on this old world’s, old lover’s balcony edges!

I have slept with Hollywood’s dotted landfalls! Concrete platforms
Whose disorderly climates are doing business with the seasick-free:
- Is it during such unfounded sinfulness that you close your petals in Babylon,  With the fastest, highest, strongest chicks, oh speculative validity? -