This is perhaps one of the most ambitious pieces of poetry of our age.  This has the taste of the future.
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 We're all pagans and shamans and clap your hands now we won't stop the beat
 
 We believe in divine healing and we hate to see that
 evening sun go down
 
 We know when the sight of our women dressed in white
 each ritual night, is touching, hypnotizes
 
 The animals blush and split for us as revival, as revealed
 to themselves
 
 These are triumphant women.
 
 Even Sister Fame hiding out in the alley turning tricks
 and singing verses from the undid scripture, is touching
 
 Thank you jesus, thank you jesus, that you jesus, baby,
 is that you, she mutters up high between rocks
 and lace---his eagerness---it was all night long
 
 Sometimes he'd interrupt a recording session to tell us
 about his early Motown days or expand on his views of
 Heaven and Hell
 
 One time he was saying how important it was to love
 one's father.
 
 Do you love yours? I asked him
 
 Why don't you tell him
 
 Why don't you tell your father, he said
 
 I will if you do
 
 You go first
 
 
 
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