Purity Engenders Wisdom, Passion Avarice, And Ignorance

Beneath A Mask Of Selfish Tranquility Nothing Exists Except Bitterness And Boredom. I Am One Of Those Whom Suffering Has Made Empty And Frivolous: Each Night In My Dreams I Pull The Scab Off A Wound; Each Day, Vacuous And Habit-ridden, I Help It Re-form.

M Is For Marx And Clashing Of Classes And Movement Of Masses And Massing Of Asses.

When Even Despair Ceases To Serve Any Creative Purpose, Then Surely We Are Justified In Suicide.

Poets Arguing About Modern Poetry: Jackals Snarling Over A Dried-up Well.

Like Those Crabs Which Dress Themselves With Seaweed, We Wear Belief And Custom.