ccf@cbosgd.UUCP (Chuck F.) (02/16/84)
A Poem for Mr. Mincemeat The poet is shut away in his old tower. Hear the wind. The poet is musing, without appearing to. All of a sudden, he has goose-bumps. The Devil! No, it's not him: it is the wind, the wind of the spirit passing by. The poet's head is full of it, full of wind. He smiles slyly, while his heart weeps like a willow. But the spirit is present! It gazes on him with an evil eye: a glass eye. And the poet grows meek and blushes. He can muse no more: he retches! A terrible retching of blank verse and bitter disillusions! *<--- chuck --->* cbosgd!ccf BTL Columbus
ellis@flairvax.UUCP (Michael Ellis) (02/18/84)
MONEY STINKS I stayed at home today and I'm not going back to work... money stinks the city stinks smell the power smell the health smell the poverty of America's wealth money smells of evil's greed capitalist wants and pumped up needs blah blah blah ... (dirty rotten imbeciles)