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Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.
You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
(Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies.) A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat.
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking.Copyright The DayPoems web site, t, is copyright by Timothy.Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors.
Simply double-click the downloaded file to install.
I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while hvordan jeg vinde på slot maskiner til at udskrive I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins.
Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with.The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp.Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening.If our colors are struck and the fighting done?There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.