How royally Avant-garde am I?

Don’t tell me it isn’t so—
As if I needn’t ever know?

There’s a peahen at the centre
Of every pert-peacocks breast
Who pre-empts her willing body
Steadfast fasts upon her nest.

Don’t tell me it isn’t so—
As if I needn’t ever know?

{She’ll be his north and south
-his east and west...}
But as soon as
The pendulum begins it’s full
Swing-slowing-turn into rest...

He’ll be off... off like a songbird
With his soul soaring high!
Off... singing, like a hummingbird
How royally Avant-garde am I.