Plop, plop. The lobster toppled in the pot, br fulfilling, dislike man, his destiny, br glowing fire-red, br succulent, and on the whole becoming what br man wants. I crack my final claw singly, br wind up the grave, & to bed. br br —Sound good, Mr Bones. I wish I had me some. br (I spose you got a lessen up your slave.) br —O no no no. br Sole I remember; where no lobster swine,— br pots hot or cold is none. With you I grieve br lightly, and I have no lesson. br br Bodies are relishy, they say. Here's mine, br was. What ever happened to Political Economy, br leaving me here? br Is a rare—in my opinion—responsibility. br The military establishments perpetuate themselves forever. br Have a bite, for a sign.