Aibohphobia

Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era? I’m a fool; aloof am I. On a clover, if alive, erupts a vast, pure evil; a fire volcano. T. Eliot, top bard, notes putrid tang emanating, is sad. I’d assign it a name: gnat dirt upset on drab pot-toilet. Do, O God, no evil deed! Live on! Do good. Evil axis,” sides reversed, is “six alive. Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live. Drawn, I sit; serene rest is inward. Madam in Eden, I’m Adam. Aibohphobia