Cale Young Rice

Pantings, Pantings, Pantings! Gents' immanent furnishings! On a mystic tide I ride, I ride, Of the clothes of a million springs! I take the train for the suburbs Or I sweep from Pole to Pole, But where is the window that holds them not, Gents' furnishings of my soul! Pantings, Pantings, Pantings! Shirtings and coatings too! How can I think of mere birds, nor blink In the Cosmic Hullaballoo? The hot world throbs with Immenseness, The Voidness plunks in the Void, And all of it doubtless has something to do With Employer and Unemployed! Pantings! Pantings! Pantings! Trousers through all the town! And the tailors' dummies with iron for tummies Smirk in their blue and brown; I float in a slithering simoon Of fevered and surging tints, And my ears are dulled with the mighty throb Of the Male Best Dressers' Hints: Pantings! Pantings! Pantings! My wardrobe, they send it fleet.... Ah, the Is and the Was and the Never Does.... And the Cosmos at last complete!