Freshly born of Burl’s womb, changes may be made in every room. Enjoy my friends and do not bend, to the rationalists desire to put poetry to an end.
Whistles and whipples and chirps
Could it be
No tight faced conductor to see
Over the faces
Of spontaneous reams
As independent notes perform artistic deeds
Whistles, whipples and chirps
Let there be from on high
orchestrating together one sigh
the outside from where within eternally lies
With no God nor man in charge,
We take no pointed leads
Each sound thus serves
In this conductor-less deed
A truly spontaneous fertilizing seed.
How shall it grow?
With no corporate thumb up its back
Will it surely work with no lack
with no God-Man up Her ass?
Spontaneous Joy thus hits the sack
With Her sensuous lover Man now off the rack
Freed finally from Adam’s sin
The apple is bitten and Truth rules once again