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
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