At least when I get on the Boston train I have a good chance of landing in the South Station<br/>And not in that part of the daily press which is reserved for victims of aviation.

My fellow man I do not care for.<br/>I often ask me$$$ What's he there for?<br/>The only answer I can find<br/>Is$$$ Reproduction of his kind.

If some confectioners were willing<br/>To let the shape announce the filling$$$<br/>We'd encounter fewer assorted chocs$$$<br/>Bitten into and returned to the box.

A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.

Tonights December thirty-first$$$<br/>Something is about to burst.<br/>The clock is crouching$$$ dark and small$$$<br/>Like a time bomb in the hall.<br/>Hark$$$ it's midnight$$$ children dear.<br/>Duck! Here comes another year!

The tragedy of power like mine is that there is no way down. There can only be extinction. Dust to dust; rags to rags; fear to fear.

The chaos lies all within.

But the people I found$$$ the people I was attracted to were not unlike myself. They were trying to find order in their world$$$ looking for the centre..

More than England to the British West Indian or even Holland to the Surinamer$$$ France is the mother country to the Martiniquan.

How ridiculous were the attentions the weak paid one another in the shadow of the strong!