Testo Where The Grass Tells Me

I go where the blades of grass tell me to go
with the clouds, with the traffic
I walk where the leaves of the trees fall at my feet
with the crowds, with the birds, I hold hands with the seas
and the skies up above, is this love?
I am the poet of common sense and of the demonstrable of the immortality
I am not the poet of goodness alone, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also
I hold hand with the seas and the skies up above here in front of me, no hear inside of me
hear! in spite of me because of me, a tree stands
leaves outside of space that falls from me
and falls on me, where I stand
in front of myself I walk through myself
I go where the blades tell me to go
where the leaves fall at my feet
with the crowds, with the birds, I hold hands with the seas
and with the skies up above
this is love
with the crowds, with the birds
I am less the reminder of propriety or qualities
and more the reminder of life
and go on the square for my own sake, for others' sake
make short account of neuters and geldings in favor of men and women fully equipped
beating the gong of revolt
to stop with fugitives to stop to plot and conspire a word of reality
the endless unfolding of words, of ages
and mind a word of the modern
a word of the faith that never balks
one time as good as another
here or henceforth, it is all the same
the wonder is always and always
always is how and how could be mean
and man could be well behaved in the past
or behaving the wonder
well where I say what will I say
do what is right do what we affirm could be right
right to walk where the leaves falling, falling at right angles to fall at my feet
with the crowds with the birds holding hands with the seas
listening to the blades of grass
they tell me to go
with the clouds with the traffic
walking and listening
singing and holding
this is love
this is the end of space
the end of space as we know it
here in front of me
no here inside of me
here in spite of myself, because of myself
where a tree always stands and leaves always fall
outside of itself, inside of itself
and space falls for me and falls to the ground
I stand in front of myself walking through myself
throwing myself on the ground
holding hands with myself
holding hands with the seas and the skies up above
singing and calling to bind with the trees
to bind with the birds, the clouds and the traffic
falling at birds
holding hands with the seas
going where space and blades of grass tell me to go
weaving the space and the blades where one starts and another begins
beginning outside and folding outside