Count A B C

Come count with me,
we can count all the lovely things we see.
There will be bushes of light
and candles in seas;
all of these things
you can count with me.

The husks from the tusks
of irrelevant elephants,
the musks in the dusk
of irreverent cherubim.
The bristles that chisel
the ice caves of blue-
all these things,
we can count them too.

There are beasts in the East
with fur coats of worms,
that bathe in the shade
where the tides of time turn.
They grin in the black
while their thoughts dream of hell,
all of these things
we can count as well.

Endless fields of wet ash
with smoke fairies arising,
their choking allure
much more than surprising.
Cascades of promenades,
dancing souls all delighted,
into ovens of passion
their bodies ignited.

Schools of fools
graduating,
their hands gravitating
to the fatted false calf
their fathers are saving.
And after the years
of life they've had pumiced,
we'll count how many still
have yet to be punished.
The hungry and fallen
found puking their bile,
oh yes, we'll count them,
we'll count them with a smile.

You'll see every last thing,
everything that can possibly be counted,
all the Creatures of Clouds
whose voices are TOUTED!
All the drunken old sages
who haggle their wares
on the fronts of old porches
and the bottoms of stairs.

And when we've counted it all,
every last thing that EXISTS!
We'll tally it up
and at last you'll insist
to do it again
because it cannot be true,
all of these things,
these things I've counted with you.
They're far too bizarre,
too supernal and odd
to be made of this earth
or even a god!
You'll tell me I've tricked you,
I'm as bad as the worst
of the demons and sages
who strain to coerce.
I'm just another thing
to be counted and then,
well, then my friend,
the counting will end.

-Kirk