Agony of Coming Home
Am coming home. You don’t need to start looking for me.
I will bring home the pansy in the park, bear the berry
With the tongue of the sky, in the midst of the ocean’s appellation
And the statement they made to offend me; oh, yet am still
Coming home, darling, into your arms, honey; I don’t want to have
Any cause to seek your pardon when I know exactly what I need to do
To be right before your gleaming eyes, and soothing song from your palate.
The crest and trough of life will come home with me, into your arms
Into your waiting arms, your hopeful arms, your pulsating arms, oh darling
Of the rose where the field is boggy, and the feed is there but bears a price
Before you can get to possess it, isn’t life mean then, ***** or just
Understand it, on its shortcomings, for I have one and you have one, but
All I know am coming home to you, to sleep, to wake again in your arms, but
They are bored they look weakened before my own eyes those places
Where you stay, where you are expecting me to come and meet you.
What sinister eyes lurk in their corners, as if to grab me or to find
Reasons to impale me with verbal ordnance, but I have always kept
What I have said in words, and if I have to alter my principles, I made a notice
On their rectification in advance. Hence since you have heard not of them, or seen them
Or feel them; in essence, you don’t need the counsel of the oracle of doubt
To know, just as I have said, that I am coming home.
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