| | I do not like poems that resemble hay compressed into a geometrically perfect cube. I like it when the hay, unkempt, uncombed, with dry berries mixed in it, thrown together gaily and freely, bounces along atop some truck-and more, if there are some lovely and healthy lasses atop the hay-and better yet if the branches catch at the hay, and some of it tumbles to the road. http://www.gifjunky.com/#wyxsc So it is that the gods do not give all men gifts of grace - neither good looks nor intelligence nor eloquence. http://www.gifjunky.com/two-necessary-pills-cialis-and-viagra/#oelwb Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it. Or something. I dunno, I was only half listening. Becca said it, anyway. Ask her.
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