O' whatever powers be
within the earth, the sky, or me,
burst this thirsty mind of mine
into a thousand particles of being.
Each as a seed from the mother tree,
to be hurled from pole to pole
across this scarred and wrinkled globe.

May fragments of my burgeoning mind
fall as sponges to the seven brines
to swell themselves
on the secrets of kelp-bedded seamen
who sailed the waves on balsa rafts
and dragon-headed, dreaded ships,
til they collapsed into clammy crypts.

Let slivers of my mind's shattered whole
converge as a horde of starving moles
on the acre whereunder Plato frowns
in his sleep as he dreams of men.
May the moles burrow down and feast
on that mind, once pregnant, which pearled,
shook empires and startled the world.

Let me in my spirit wander,
free from flesh to roam and ponder
the mystery of forgotten cities,
unheralded deeds and sunken graves,
to seek the hows and whys of life
from brooding Thoth and the satyr's pipe.

I would, with the morning mist,
ascend from throngs of frost-kissed
flowers swaying on some Alpine height,
reveling in their solitude and waving
porcelain blossoms to greet the dawn.
Oh to view with clear unbiased eye
the truth of those that beautify.

Would that I might don the cloak of night
and join the beasts beyond the light,
to sit with an owl on a shadowy limb,
like a feathered Buddha on his throne,
run wild with jackals in search of blood,
haunt the backwash in every man's mind,
to seek the truth that I must find.

Oh whatever powers be,
heed this call I've addressed to thee,
deny the rain that I must thirst,
spoil the harvest that I must fast,
spare neither whip nor spur,
but temper me with love and fire
lest my life becomes another's pyre.