It Seems To Me You Do Not

Theologians Consider That It Was The Sin Of Pride, The Sinful Thought Conceived In An Instant: Non Serviam: I Will Not Serve. That Instant Was His [lucifer's] Ruin.

They Lived And Laughed And Loved And Left.

The Artist, Like The God Of The Creation, Remains Within Or Behind Or Beyond Or Above His Handiwork, Invisible, Refined Out Of Existence, Indifferent, Paring His Fingernails.

Thought Is The Thought Of Thought.

Stately, Plump Buck Mulligan Came From The Stairhead, Bearing A Bowl Of Lather On Which A Mirror And A Razor Lay Crossed.