... ..the inscription ....May 16, 2004   I cannot see words; the fog is too thick.  My brain is wet cotton.  So I sit on this floor and bludgeon time with specific intent to kill. There is but one book in the box.  It is a thick book inscribed by a thin lady.  On flickering eyelid screens, her face appears, kind and intelligent.  Gently she lets me know I am behind schedule. One falls behind schedule when books are packed.  They must be felt and smelled and skimmed and remembered.  I inscribe one to myself, in case I do this again. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..2d quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster