That Is Our ‘pointed Task. Love &

I Cry. Evil Dissolves, & Love, Like Foam; That Love. Prattle Of Children Powers Me Home, My Heart Claps Like The Swan's Under A Frenzy Of Who Love Me & Who Shine.

Two Daiquiris Withdrew Into A Corner Of A Gorgeous Room And One Told The Other A Lie.

Them Lady Poets Must Not Marry, Pal.

Something Has Been Said For Sobriety But Very Little.

Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not Say So. After All, The Sky Flashes, The Great Sea Yearns, We Ourselves Flash And Yearn, And Moreover My Mother Told Me As A Boy (repeatedly) 'ever To Confess You're Bored Means You Have No Inner Resources.' I Conclude Now I Have No Inner Resources, Because I Am Heavy Bored.