I SING the Body electric;
The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them;
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves;
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?


Walt Whitman, from I Sing the Body Electric



All these hollowed, out empty towns
in the empire dying fast

The last flicker of neon light
leaving empty bulbs of glass too fragile
for this world

All these hollowed, out empty folks
like outlines in pavement chalk

Eyes all narrowed down to slits
from light too hot to be let in

Hot as the push of needles
Hot as the fast food grease

Hot as the nothing left
Hot as the big release

Hot as fluorescent ceilings
Hot as the neighbor's gun

Hot as the children launching their
Waxy-winged flight towards the sun

My land I try my best for you
I follow my own pen, I choose my own route

I follow the brightest star
I follow the brightest star

The body electric
The body electric
electric electric

Through cracks in the blacktop the grass is still growing
I spin like a searchlight I spin like a searchlight
I want to be part of that energy flowing I know that it's urgent
It's urgent it's urgent

Through cracks in the blacktop the grass is still growing
I spin like a searchlight I spin like a searchlight
I want to be part of that energy flowing I know that it's urgent
It's urgent
It's urgent

Through cracks in the blacktop the grass is still growing
I spin like a searchlight I spin like a searchlight
I want to be part of that energy flowing I know that it's urgent
It's urgent
It's urgent