Idiot’s Delight by Gregory Corso

You’ll never find me, I’m hanging on by two hand jobs while the waves make sand into soft silk. Elation! How the breeze whispers sweetness, rounding my numbers, each simple mold melting into seashells, every pebble a thought,

• an idiot of the heart in a child’s kingdom, a junkyard in the zen. I’ll take you to the edge, sing you into oblivion, you’ll share my head of colored glass, a chewed-up soul like the ocean line, dreaming only of love, nature, rocking meticulously on a’ driftwood’ couch.

• Gregory Corso