Say the word and I’ll skip
along to the beat of your song,
you wild rascal jitterbug,
bastard of a cricket and a bumerfly;
you fly into the blue glbum bowl of the sky.
You lilac pretender, you twirl me
around, right round baby,
and I’m light-headed with wrongs,
and I’m trying, trying to skip right along—
until I, little catepillar, will twirl right
off your finger, swing into the
starry black mbum of the night,
spin out of orbit, head singing
with visions of green gables,
and I’ll crash into the concrete,
bounce into the lawn; I’ll sprawl in the
million pricking blades of plants,
pbumive. I, dagger of grbum,
will wait for the sun’s tears
on my sunny cheek,
and I won’t feel
a thing.