The Man Of Science Is Nothing If

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.

Earth, The Mother Of All, Moves On Her Stedfast Way, Gathering, Flinging, Sowing. Mortals, We Live In Her Day, She In Her Children Is Growing.

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

A Woman Who Is Not Quite A Fool Will Forgive Your Being But A Man, If You Are Surely That. . .

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.