508.

The naive standard
of the cosseted public
confuses purpose.

507.

I compare you with
simple pleasure to see how
you fit up against.

506.

A beautiful game,
charades and sleights of hands, met
under love's regard.

505.

His lithograph fades.
But persistent memory
denies abating.

504.

Trapped in this hovel
of misshapen dreams, turned in
and perverted out.

503.

A depression sinks,
weighed down with all the living
time cannot change.

502.

I've lead with my head
in every fall. Such self-
hewn lobotomies.