I Am The People The Mob The

Poetry Is A Section Of River-fog And Moving Boat-lights, Delivered Between Bridges And Whistles, So One Says, 'oh!' And Another, 'how?'

Poetry Is The Synthesis Of Hyacinths And Biscuits.

Out Of Great Russia Came Three Dusky Syllables Workmen Took Guns And Went Out To Die For: Bread, Peace, Land.

There Are Some People Who Can Receive A Truth By No Other Way Than To Have Their Understanding Shocked And Insulted.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. I Am The Grass. I Cover All.