They ****** us in;
King and country,
And the rest.
Words and phrases,
They either ******* or killed us.
In the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain in Spain.
Does it rain in Spain?
Oh yes my dear on the contrary and there are no bull fights.
The dancers dance in long white pants
It isn't right to yence your aunts
Come Uncle, let's go home.
Home is where the heart is, home is where the **** is.
Come let us **** in the home.
There is no art in a ****.
Still a **** may not be artless.
Let us **** an artless **** in the home.
Bill says democracy must go.
Bill's father would never knowingly sit down at table with a Democrat.
Now Bill says democracy must go.
Go on democracy.
Democracy is the ****.
Relativity is the ****.
Dictators are the ****.
Menken is the ****.
Waldo Frank is the ****.
The Broom is the ****.
Dada is the ****.
Dempsey is the ****.
This is not a complete list.
They say Ezra is the ****.
But Ezra is nice.
Come let us build a monument to Ezra.
Good a very nice monument.
You did that nicely
Can you do another?
Let me try and do one.
Let us all try and do one.
Let the little girl over there on the corner try and do one.
Come on little girl.
Do one for Ezra.
You have all been successful children.
Now let us clean the mess up.
The Dial does a monument to Proust.
We have done a monument to Ezra.
A monument is a monument.
After all it is the spirit of the thing that counts.
There was a cat named Crazy Christian
Who never lived long enough to *****
He was gay hearted, young and handsome
And all the secrets of life he knew
He would always arrive on time for breakfast
Scamper on your feet and chase the ball
He was faster than any polo pony
He never worried a minute at all
His tail was a plume that scampered with him
He was black as night and as fast as light.
So the bad cats killed him in the fall.
I need words that don't reflect myself.
Words that aren't empty.
Words that make you feel something.
Is it worth sketching
An alluring portrait,
That will catch the eye of many,
Except for the person portrayed?
Is it worth making
a steaming cup of tea,
On a cold rainy day
for a guest who is
more eager to stay outside?
And tell me,
Is it worth it if I
were to light a candle,
For a dead man's birthday cake?
No human can actually know what truth is
Because truth has too many dimensions
mixed with different perceptions
and people's interpretation
No human can see the truth in its true form
I can hardly say this poetry is true
I'm human too