So First, Your Memory I'll Jog, And

The Nightingales Are Singing Near The Convent Of The Sacred Heart, And Sang Within The Bloody Wood When Agamemnon Cried Aloud, And Let Their Liquid Siftings Fall To Stain The Stiff Dishonored Shroud.

Sand. Everywhere. In The Bed, In The Shower, All Over The Floor. Grrrrr.

There Are Three Conditions Which Often Look Alike Yet Differ Completely, Flourish In The Same Hedgerow: Attachment To Self And To Things And To Persons, Detachment From Self And From Things And From Persons; And, Growing Between Them, Indifference, ... .

The Only Hope, Or Else Despair Lies In The Choice Of Pyre Or Pyre - To Be Redeemed From Fire By Fire.

In A World Of Fugitives The One Who Stays Home Will Seem To Be Running Away