Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat; Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best; Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

I sing the body that is electric! I celebrate the Self yet to be unveiled!

The work for giants...to serve well the guns!

Peace is always beautiful.