O Happy Dogs Of England, Bark Well

All Poetry Has To Do Is To Make A Strong Communication. All The Poet Has To Do Is Listen. The Poet Is Not An Important Fellow. There Will Also Be Another Poet.

It Is The Privilege Of The Rich To Waste The Time Of The Poor To Water With Tears In Secret A Tree That Grows In Secret That Bears Fruit In Secret That Ripened Falls To The Ground In Secret And Manures The Parent Tree Oh The Wicked Tree Of Hatred And The Secret The Sap Rising And The Tears Falling.

I Am Hungry To Be Interrupted For Ever And Ever Amen O Person From Porlock Come Quickly And Bring My Thoughts To An End.

Coleridge Received The Person From Porlock And Ever After Called Him A Curse, Then Why Did He Hurry To Let Him In? He Could Have Hid In The House.

Marriage I Think For Women Is The Best Of Opiates. It Kills The Thoughts That Think About The Thoughts, It Is The Best Of Opiates. So Said Maria. But Too Long In Solitude She'd Dwelt, And Too Long Her Thoughts Had Felt Their Strength. So When The Man Drew Near, Out Popped Her Thoughts And Covered Him With Fear. Poor Maria! Better That She Had Kept Her Thoughts On A Chain, For Now She's Alone Again And All In Pain; She Sighs For The Man That Went And The Thoughts That Stay To Trouble Her Dreams By Night And Her Dreams By Day.