Who Dreams Of A Son,

I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What Love Taught, Woman Is Perfect.

Why Wait For Death To Mow? Why Wait For Death To Sow Us In The Ground?

There Must Be Real Gods See, The Painted Gods How Fair!

The Greeks Have Snatched Up Their Spears. They Have Pointed The Helms Of Their Ships Toward The Bulwarks Of Troy.

No Poetic Phantasy But A Biological Reality, A Fact: I Am An Entity Like Bird, Insect, Plant Or Sea-plant Cell; I Live; I Am Alive.