The Return of the Goat

The Goat walked through the Kensington Gardens,
Contemplating Marx and Napoleon,
Drinking the jazz of the Buddha's,
Making an ass
Out of miracles.

So the Goat has returned,
And could sing in orgasmic splendor
To those shepherds who would violate her thick coat,
Of worlds past
Folded underneath the veils of space-time
Ape memories,
The goat could sing a succulent fugue
Voices echoing from Tibet,
Atlantis,
Oxnard, California

Changing like the rolling seas in the heart of the goat,
Or the endless sky against the goat's brow
Where he could see his return
And yet,
Be smiling blindly
To mountain's crashing
Against Man's empire of Karma.