When she sees his eyes later -- red and swollen
and faraway, she remembers the symmetry of the stars
at night, and whispers freely,
I don't know what to do with the poetry.
I don't know what to do with my body.
He tells her she has done it already.
- Fanny Howe
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Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats. - H. L. Mencken
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