A Talk With Crazy Man

Let your ear look at me And your eyes listen to me Allow your mouth walk to me But I have no milk cakes for it Tell your arms to talk to me Or your legs to cook for you Otherwise your stomach a pitch For soccer of idle men in bandages Talk like a weaver-bird and eat Your own words with no soup Picked directly from hot saucepan Of the imagination of your belly What your belly thinks about you eat What your head runs for you dearly miss What your eyes hear you surely enjoy Take heed to follow this broken tongue