Xv--In A Tavern Booth

To Bob Lillard

Out of my forehead now the long thoughts reach In level rays that melt the Pleiades, Which, melting, somehow smell like toasted cheese . . . I know Life's secret now, but have no speech To utter it: indeed, small wish to teach My truths to trivial planets such as these Whereon the populations drone like bees That have no honey-gift, each stinging each . . . And yet I will speak, too!... the slow words come With pain out of my deeps of ecstasy, Burst from my soul as from a beaten drum In a hoarse pulse of sound . . . But hark to me! “Life's secret is that all things cool somewhat Like golden bucks”...but, somehow, that seems rot.