THIS POEM IS FULL OF ANGST.  THE ANGST IS ARTIFICIAL, AS IS THE POEM.

trapped inside himself, incapable of empathizing
all the plots and strategems of the valiant
ensures perfect blandness, unsullied by
all the members of the body;

men expect women to adore what men shrink from in horror
O the fine saying!

Being empty, not being a complete, separate being,
the feet do walk and bear up the whole bulk of the corporal mass
equating non-cooperation and solitariness with individuality.

none is exempted from labour, each operates apart,
The `hippy' babbles on about individuality
Life consisteth in blood, blood is the seat of the soul
no one as the right to life at someone else's expense. 






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