Monday, April 26, 2010
The rich are buried in the church and everyone is rich and I am Rich
Easy Whistle Solo
Next on the agenda:
The Impotence of Being and Somethingness
Fear of Novels
The night lies in hovels.
And so I move my guts back to Kelburn,
And so I walk, barefoot at 3am past the four square.
And so my friends ask when I will or will not ensure that the Green card remains crisp.
Lord! I ask. Do you, or do you not, expect me to put up with lice? A common coincidence re: OTC&POHCTMAHYL and Baxter's 'Jerusalem Sonnets: Poems for Colin Baxter'.
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