Poor bored Teutonic virgin,
Passion for gold, & the lockjaw of a friend.
The ultimatum of her pants.
This environment is my dragon, greedy,
But I always finish fourth in poetry.
Just some weak rocks near the light-houses.
Pass a kid living in the woods,
He beats you with ham.
As a kid living in the woods,
Being most of his elite selves.
Where does money come from?
Where that’s evil of meditation.
Or bring it up to the family,
They have incredible concerns.
Their little misgivings are always children of the self.
How do you get to that? It’s spiritual, right off 57th Street
And 5th Avenue: you sit down with a butterfly’s mouth,
You drink the sandy ice-water.