Soar, Eat Ether, See What Has Never

You See, I Am A Poet, And Not Quite Right In The Head, Darling. It’s Only That.

If I Love You Wednesday, What Is That To You? I Do Not Love You Thursday - So Much Is True.

I, Being Born A Woman And Distressed By All The Needs And Notions Of My Kind.

She Is Neither Pink Nor Pale, And She Never Will Be All Mine; She Learned Her Hands In A Fairy-tale, And Her Mouth On A Valentine. She Has More Hair Than She Needs; In The Sun ’tis A Woe To Me! And Her Voice Is A String Of Colored Beads, Or Steps Leading Into The Sea. She Loves Me All That She Can, And Her Ways To My Ways Resign; But She Was Not Made For Any Man, And She Never Will Be All Mine.

Life Must Go On, Though Good Men Die.