The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

(those Women Whom The Distaff No Longer Claims Nor Spun Cloth) Driven Made, Mad, Mad By Bacchus.

We Don't Have To Know,only To Be:let Go The Jumble Of Worn Words,reason And Vanity.

The Greeks Have Snatched Up Their Spears. They Have Pointed The Helms Of Their Ships Toward The Bulwarks Of Troy.

The Whole White World Is Ours.

Pompeii Has Nothing To Teach Us, We Know Crack Of Volcanic Fissure, Slow Flow Of Terrible Lava, Pressure On Heart, Lungs, The Brain About To Burst Its Brittle Case (what The Skull Can Endure!)