There Never Was A War That Was

I'm Troubled. I'm Dissatisfied. I'm Irish.

The Ocean, Under The Pulsation Of Lighthouses And Noise Of Bell Buoys, Advances As Usual, Looking As If It Were Not That Ocean In Which Dropped Things Are Bound To Sink-- In Which If They Turn And Twist, It Is Neither With Volition Nor Consciousness.

What Is There In Being Able To Say That One Has Dominated The Stream In An Attitude Of Self-defense; In Proving That One Has Had The Experience Of Carrying A Stick?

I Wonder What Adam And Eve Think Of It By This Time.

All Are / Naked, None Is Safe.