Satyr Song

Easy to feel when we’re romping in the pasture,
in love with each other, in love with ourselves.—
No greater blessing than to be a living creature.

We’re preaching like the Gospel scripture
(baa-ing like a trip of goats—
natural when you’re romping in the pasture).

But we’re composted of goat-mictur-
ition, so we’re dying by dribs and droves,
still bleating the joy of being a living creature.

Don’t we love to feel the cakey mixture
wetting and shitty-ing our heels and toes
when we’re at rest from our romping in the pasture!—

jonesing that brews for us the true elixir
of the marriage of sight, hearing, touch, and smell—
tasted in the blessing of being a living creature.

Truly, the earth is our only teacher,
with its sexy, never-ending show-and-tell,
felt in our hoof-soles when we’re romping in the pasture.—
No greater blessing than to be a living creature.