|03-08-2008, 05:10 PM||#11|
Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, at the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, walled round with rocks as an inland island, the ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
"The time has come," Confucius say,
"To talk of many things:
Of rat shit bits and chicken guts,
Of why Saran Wrap clings,
And whether cheese is really blue,
And buffalos have wings."
My strength is as the strength of eight --
My heart is nearly pure.
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