Ode to Pan

Pan, Pan, of hairy hock Of loping gait and split shoe falls Clatter and clack from rook to rock Girdled by birds in a flurry of calls Twists in your cum-curly nest of flock Musky with all, from brim to balls And girding the ironwood root of your cock Pan, Pan, of fey-like wiles Brown into black, your stag eyes shine Twisting limb and leer beguiles Mounted, my will is not quite mine Given your inches, taken your miles Dance your advance, come fast from behind Assure and succor with coyote smiles Pan, Pan, of rage and rut Laying us bare in unbounded urge Howling and driving us from the gut With crescent scythe, ecstatic to surge To sever from soul, to take in the cut Laying all but the strong to be purged And leaving us free to glory and glut Pan, Pan, your bullroarers wheel Syrinx wailing, open arms flung In abandon to heaven, you rock and reel Dancing deliverance, speaking in tongues To quicken the prick, benediction to feel Let the chill of the night and the song fill our lungs Move us with tunes to exalt and to heal