The Love Boat Has Crashed Against The

A Line Is A Fuse That's Lit. The Line Smolders, The Rhyme Explodes— And By A Stanza A City Is Blown To Bits.

The Love Boat Has Crashed Against The Everyday.

In Our Language Rhyme Is A Barrel. A Barrel Of Dynamite. The Line Is A Fuse. The Line Smoulders To The End And Explodes; And The Town Is Blown Sky-high In A Stanza.

If You Wish, I Shall Grow Irreproachably Tender: Not A Man, But A Cloud In Trousers!

Were I As Quiet As Thunder, How I'd Wail And Whine! One Groan Of Mine Would Start The World's Crumbling Cloister Shivering. And If I'd End Up By Roaring With All Of Its Power Of Lungs And More - The Comets, Distressed, Would Wring Their Hands And From The Sky's Roof Leap In A Fever.