in my prodigious form thou shalt find
six or ten or nine--lost my mind
--an orange rind my paunch,
crusted over with the evening's repast,
so fast, you passed, i'm left, last;
but see in me thou wilt, how thou wilt
how thou shalt my belly's curving
form and stout (my drink) it's no
wonder a trinket or two is rolled,
i won't rehearse this folio's fold
again; my liver spots, my hairy warts,
my complimentary birthmark stains:
these are the buddha, the buddha
in mine form as thou shalt find.

if you have any brains


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