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Poem	Supreme my holdings, greater yet my need, thoughtless I go out. Dawn. Have I my cig's, my flaskie O, O crystal cock,-”my kneel has gone to seed,-” and anybody's blessing? (Blast the MIGs for making funble so my tardy readying.) Yes, utter' that. Anybody's blessing? -”Mr Bones, you makes too much dÃ©mand. I might be 'fording you a hat: it gonna rain. -”I 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? -”Hear matters hard to manage at de best, Mr Bones. Tween what we see, what be, is blinds. Them blinds' on fire.
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