Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!
Damned universal cock, as if the sun
Was blackmoor to bear your blazing tail.
Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.
You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,
Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.
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Comments1I remember stumbling upon this poem in middle school. It struck me as strange and puzzling, yet somehow captivating. I can't seem to fully grasp the concept behind it. Can anyone help shed some light on the line "Your world is you. I am my world"? Is it implying some kind of philosophy?