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Rh 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.

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

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.

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

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,