She Poured A Little Social Sewage Into

Always Imitate The Behaviour Of The Winners When You Lose.

I Know Him, February's Thrush, And Loud At Eve He Valentines On Sprays That Paw The Naked Bush Where Soon Will Sprout The Thorns And Bines.

The Stench Of The Trail Of Ego In Our History. It Is Ego - Ego, The Fountain Cry, Origin, Sole Source Of War.

Lowly, With A Broken Neck, The Crocus Lays Her Cheek To Mire.

When I Was Quite A Boy I Had A Spasm Of Religion Which Lasted Six Weeks... But I Never Since Have Swallowed The Christian Fable.