There Never Was A War That Was

Truly As The Sun Can Rot Or Mend, Love Can Make One Bestial Or Make A Beast A Man.

Below The Incandescent Stars / Below The Incandescent Fruit, / The Strange Experience Of Beauty; / Its Existence Is Too Much; / It Tears One To Pieces / And Each Fresh Wave Of Consciousness / Is Poison.

When We Think We Don't Like Art It Is Because It Is Artificial Art.

We Prove, We Do Not Explain, Our Birth.

Does It Follow That Because There Are Poisonous Toadstools Which Resemble Mushrooms, Both Are Dangerous?