Supreme my holdings, greater yet my need,
thoughtless I go out. Dawn. Have I my cig's,
my flaskie O,
O crystal cock,âmy kneel has gone to seed,â
and anybody's blessing? (Blast the MIGs
for making funble so
my tardy readying.) Yes, utter' that.
Anybody's blessing? âMr Bones,
you makes too much
démand. I might be 'fording you a hat:
it gonna rain. âI knew a one of groans
& greed & spite, of a crutch,
who thought he had, a vile night, been-well-blest.
He see someone run off. Why not Henry,
with his grasp of desire?
âHear matters hard to manage at de best,
Mr Bones. Tween what we see, what be,
is blinds. Them blinds' on fire.
