Lucky Lad Unknowing

Worthless, yet lucky little David! Inexperienced, the bright delirium (a bedroom game) of a future soliloquy playing coy backslides Her into salt and you resign yourself to Jopah. Beware the Fish. Perchance this dream of yours takes the form of Cybele; or a fountainous grin words cannot hate; or an ethereal world full of yellow gas that overwhelms with happiness. No rum till the sun flies limpid into your wicked heart; implodes— scions: fatherless glass shards, old trances, and dumbwaiters. Fire in his lungs; FIRE on his tongue. Though if hallow fire be in his heart, wherefore, then, thou quietest art? Thou pure and faithful for him to mold; fashion; uphold; caress always in lovely twain? Perhaps above the clouds, you are there. I peer by the Hudson pier to discover, to you, I was never as dear.