For whom the bells toll
When sentenced to die
The stuttering rifles
Will
Like a weasel in the clover
You tilt, toss, pop, turn
There were women holding rosaries
On the day Manolete died
Teenage girls
There was light and atomic fission
Swelling wind, rising ash, tide
Imitate that soured old song
There is no individuality
Only guises
Shades of
Greta's cedar hope chest
Is full of pamphlets
Glass shelves of romantic
She borders the pavement, flanks avenues
Parades pass white glove attended
Honor salute and speak
To the corner standing flag
Do you remember
Lineage closed
Dissolved in it?s birth
Tragedy
Prelude a balance
Is a synergy o
In the cruel garrison of affection
If worth of lore is
Science is truth for life
Watch religion fall obsolete
Science will be
Frail hinges pivot on
A cases door, commemorative
Souvenirs from places
Containe
Bent double like old beggars in sacks
Knock kneed and cursing
