I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandana..

We come spinning out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust.

"Look what I'm lumbered with. One load of cast-iron crap after another." — Harold Pinter: The Homecoming.

"Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

Hay smells different to lovers and horses.

I am very busy picking up stems and stamens as the hollyhocks leave their clothes around.

Dusk — of a summer night.

My horse is plodding down a path unspooling under her hooves like a ball of wool, only wider, while I think of ways to wake kings or small children or writers, all of whom seem to be constantly sleeping and dreaming of me in the seventh square on a horse with a mind of her own.

Round and round we spin, with feet of lead and wings of tin.

Well, I am going to exercise my prerogative of roaring and show you how fares nobility. Watch me.

Now from where I sit this whole thing smells like its downwind from a cow barn on a hot June day!

So from the mould
Scarlet and Gold
Many a Bulb will rise — Hidden away, cunningly,
From sagacious eyes.

So from Cocoon
Many a Worm
Leap so Highland gay,
Peasants like me — Peasants like Thee,
Gaze perplexedly!

Strip away the phony tinsel of Hollywood and you'll find the real tinsel underneath.