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Drinking mead from the skull-cup—to Shastas and
Vedas admirant—minding the Koran,
Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the
stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum,
Accepting the Gospels—accepting him that was
crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine,
To the mass kneeling, or the puritan's prayer rising,
or sitting patiently in a pew,
Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting
dead-like till my spirit arouses me,
Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of
pavement and land,
Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.

289.One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang, I turn
and talk like a man leaving charges before a
journey.

290.Down-hearted doubters, dull and excluded,
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheartened,
atheistical,
I know every one of you—I know the unspoken
interrogatories,
By experience I know them.

291.How the flukes splash!
How they contort, rapid as lightning, with spasms,
and spouts of blood!

292.Be at peace, bloody flukes of doubters and sullen
mopers,
I take my place among you as much as among any,
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the
same,