Hey diddle diddle the cat
and the fiddle sings
the beggar man. Mountains
do not move. Rainbows
disappear into pots.
Paddle to the sea
says the Indian boy.
He is carved of
birch wood. Say
the sad bells Lay
her down in sweet
heather. Never worry.
-
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john mann poems 
I have the sense of delirium in this poem. That’s a coveted zone for a poet to inhabit–like pole-sitting (popular in the 30’s) where the only question is how long can you sit up there and not “why are you sitting there.” There is also the drama of none too little danger. In this poem, the speaker emerges then dissapates in random voices from various sources. I don’t buy the “never worry,” because it is precisely that which contributes to the final shorting out. Loud zaps of electricity and fireworks. My only advice is to use more drugs. Seriously. This is the China-Town phase of your life!