Happiness, To Some, Is Elation; To Others

I Should Like To Bring A Case To Trial: Prosperity Versus Beauty, Cash Registers Teetering In A Balance Against The Comfort Of The Soul.

Hate Is Ravening Vulture Beaks Descending On A Place Of Skulls.

Underneath My Stiffened Gown Is The Softness Of A Woman Bathing In A Marble Basin

This Is War: Boys Flung Into A Breach Like Shoveled Earth; And Old Men, Broken, Driving Rapidly Before Crowds Of People In A Glitter Of Silly Decorations. Behind The Boys And The Old Men, Life Weeps, And Shreds Her Garments To The Blowing Winds.

All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords, You Can Cut, Or You Can Drug, With Words.