Poem

Bonheur

Thom Gunn

(effects of mescalin)

I

My body trots semblably
on Market Street. I control
the singular spy from my
hovering other planet: I
contemplate new laws meanwhile.

According to which it is
not a thoroughfare below
but a sweet compact. I choose
as if for the first time this
as the world I’ll return to.

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