"be slurred o crippled daze, awake ye o fauns or dreary machines and loose thine awakened myriads up the day-stream.. muse to the crony of time in haggled bedraggled glories.. shuffle to old gold furniture in the washing house.. purify the extracts of your calloused, much adored father-herds, champ the glistening remnants of your bitter turrets and hasten the word-slave to rest in shattered but velvet caverns where the bat-king sculpts his dark metabolic progeny in social relief.. glue the torrid masses to shame in a hurried smile, bless the young buck in white socks and lightning.. worry to the awful grating of joy in fluid that rises from your temple flesh into the loam of mind and dies.. happy and hummingbird-like in the eagles spread-feathered caravan.. plant domocile..''
