The World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

In A Middle Of A Room Stands A Suicide Sniffing A Paper Rose Smiling To A Self "somewhere It Is Spring And Sometimes People Are In Real:imagine Somewhere Real Flowers,but I Can't Imagine Real Flowers For If I Could,they Would Somehow Not Be Real" (so He Smiles Smiling)"but I Will Not Everywhere Be Real To You In A Moment" The Is Blond With Small Hands "& Everything Is Easier Than I Had Guessed Everything Would Be;even Remembering The Way Who Looked At Whom First,anyhow Dancing

Time's A Strange Fellow; More He Gives Than Takes (and He Takes All).

His Lips Drink Water But His Heart Drinks Wine

Take The So-called Standard Of Living. What Do Most People Mean By "living"? They Don’t Mean Living. They Mean The Latest And Closest Plural Approximation To Singular Prenatal Passivity Which Science, In Its Finite But Unbounded Wisdom, Has Succeeded In Selling Their Wives.

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands