"Oh say can you see, my eyes, if you can — then my hair's too short!" ~ Hair
In the theater of things sublime
Pilose players and pithy pipes combine.
Metonymy may mollify a meaningless mind
As apes at nature's apex are realigned.
Doubt but don't debate about design
Scroll past scrawling so inclined
Swear to secrecy your sacred find
Never overestimate anyone unkind
Where be the beacons that before shined?
We can't fast-forward, only rewind.
Wound up tight enough, try to unwind.
Within this verbose vortex every venal vertex is redefined
Bald figureheads grow febrile barring growling fibrous fandango
Set loose a top spins then dips midst tripped up tango
All eyes see photons reflected through their own prismatic angle
Skull-bound tongue has its way with one's brain once tangled
Come now ghost of Samson — let us grow our hair of strength!
What wondrous shimmering shall be shown in its length?
Weird yet wild antenna attuned to hardwired wisdom;
Unleashed by shaman's shout from inner shrine to outer serfdom.
Image: Poster for a London production of Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical.