The wind in Whitman's window whisking him wanly to where we won't worry,
And the patrician's paper princehood pauperized by palace pimping.

What the hell could that lead to? Their desires; one covert and the other
Worn affectionately as a trademark. We know whom is who.

Such a summer of smiles--redolent, ready--sing sweetly! O my
Desert designs, digging demurely though dearth and dread
Afflict and alter you, amaré! Affection always.

From me. I exude only unrequited love, and
That is enough when all of your green shoots and moist redemptions
Poke free of the starched, parched earth.

But branded a braggart, bunk are rendered my boasts of your beauty.
Merde! My mortared lips make out.
(They think on their own, think to thatch a
Love where there is none.)

So smear salve on salvo swaths
Cut by country folk with hatchets
Who don't understand the reason,
The Great reason,
For the change.

Czars and zebras,
Kings and cormorants,
Monkeys, mandarins, masked tyrants,
Emperors and elk,
They range far from plains and plateaus--
To bow low at your new feet.