Third Eye

We got away at 2 a.m./ I wanted to begin with the shore/ A blinding glory towards the hills/ White electric light/ Bursting from the seams/ Fifty dollars an acre where/ The body curls with enjoyment/ Chimneys raining down sparks/ Clothed in silken/ Golden/ Paris-made/ Colorless in comparison/ Crippled though/ No one is killed/ In Europe they were gods/ Grandeurs in long vanished societies/ Its first exhibition/ Would fall upon and make merciless/ Its last/ Kept alive in the South/ We find it filled with wordy, windy/ Eloquent romantics/ Grieved from their lips/ Of an ancient past/ At the end of twenty-one years/ We are still only thirty-five/ Given a sense of frailness/ Sticking about in magnolias and live oaks/ They bare a wildness/ Compressed between walls/ A peculiarly violent/ And unusual way/ Like a ship at sea/ A machine-made laugh/ Spilling from its river bondage/