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I am numb from world-pain—
I sway most violently as the thoughts course through me,
And athwart me,
And up and down me—
Thoughts of cosmic matters,
Of the mergings of worlds within worlds,
And unutterabilities
And room-rent,
And other tremendously alarming phenomena,
Which stab me,
Rip me most outrageously;
(Without a semblance, mind you, of respect for the Hague Convention's rules governing soul-slitting.)
Aye, as with the poniard of the Finite pricking the rainbow-bubble of the Infinite!
(Some figure, that!)
(Some little rush of syllables, that!)—
And make me—(are you still whirling at my coat-tails, reader?)
Make me—ahem, where was I?—oh, yes—make me,
In a sudden, overwhelming gust of soul-shattering rebellion,
Fall flat on my face!
Thomas R. Ybarra.
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