Awake.

Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day
And choose the sign of your day,
The day's divinity.
First thing you see.

vast radiant beach
And a cool jeweled moon.
Couples naked race down
By its quiet side,
And we laugh like
Soft mad children
Smug in the wooly
Cotton brains of infancy.

The music and voices
Are all around us.

Choose they croon
The ancient ones,
The time [bad word] again.
Choose now they croon
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake.
Enter again the sweet forest.
Enter the hot dream [bad word] with us.
Everything is broken up
And dances.

Indians scattered on
Dawn's highway bleeding,
Ghosts crowd the young child's
Fragile egg-shell mind.

We have assembled inside,
This ancient and insane theater
To propagate our lust for life,
And flee the swarming wisdom of the streets.

The barns have stormed
The windows kept,
And only one of all the rest
To dance and save us
From the divine mockery of words,
Music inflames temperament.

Ooh great creator of being
Grant us one more hour,
To perform our art
And perfect our lives.

We need great golden copulations,

When the [bad word] kings murderers
Are allowed to roam free,
thousand magicians arise in the land
Where are the feast we are promised?