Beware Of Those Who Seek

Keep Your Money In Your Pocket. Or Bet It On A Good Horse.

2 P.m. Beer Nothing Matters But Flopping On A Mattress With Cheap Dreams And A Beer As The Leaves Die And The Horses Die And The Landladies Stare In The Halls; Brisk The Music Of Pulled Shades, A Last Man's Cave In An Eternity Of Swarm And Explosion; Nothing But The Dripping Sink, The Empty Bottle, Euphoria, Youth Fenced In, Stabbed And Shaven, Taught Words Propped Up To Die.

That's The Way It Ends. The Thin Edge Of The Wedge.

To Do A Dull Thing With Style-now That's What I Call Art.

People Run From Rain But Sit In Bathtubs Full Of Water.