Classic Poem

My face will be dark.
The glittering liquid that spurts out of my holy procreative center
Will not be received into that contractile interior, which is eternally female,
But spill, and keep spilling, on the cold lifeless ground,
So my sons, who are my shadows, will as transparent Leech-Children make a round of the earth,
Make a round of the water maze at the bottom of the earth, make a round of the network paths inside the tree,
And, ejected from the skyward mouth of every leaf at the tip of the tree,
Will drift aimlessly in the empty blue sky and be lost,
So my face should have been the sons of my light, things which
Endlessly continuing glittering links of light wove,
So the overflowing light is behind me, and is not before me.
My face, the whole face as one large mouth of darkness,
Is shouting voicelessly in the overflowing spilling light.