Bela Böcek's Written Works

The plot thickens In a book, written by Charles Dickens.

What’s there to be fond of but Good port and a plate of cheese? Are things never nothing but Synthetic contingencies?

Brain juice in my head sucked out Of my nose by slaves at night. Though I'll stay in bed I doubt I'll remain tucked in too tight. Wonder...

Me a glass Filled myself Someone asks How full am I Of water? I for one Won’t bother With how much But I’ll still say 3 quarters

A terrible fate Has flown and landed On our heads Now its claws Carve text in Sanskrit On our heads

Have I you by me my mind Thinks I have you not and yet Dawn finds it within himself To wake a poor me up while Poor me pours onto pillow...