Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by a railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
Of a sort of emotional anemia.
And round about the is a rabbel
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like someone to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
Will commit that indiscretion.
-Ezra Pound
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a compilation of things that make up an online sketchbook, and stuff.