I Wish I Was A Woman Of

[referring To The Birds:] Nat Listened To The Tearing Sound Of Splintering Wood, And Wondered How Many Million Years Of Memory Were Stored In Those Little Brains, Behind The Stabbing Beaks, The Piercing Eyes, Now Giving Them This Instinct To Destroy Mankind With All The Deft Precision Of Machines.

All Autobiography Is Self-indulgent.

Why Did Dogs Make One Want To Cry? There Was Something So Quiet And Hopeless About Their Sympathy. Jasper, Knowing Something Was Wrong, As Dogs Always Do. Trunks Being Packed. Cars Being Brought To The Door. Dogs Standing With Drooping Tails, Dejected Eyes. Wandering Back To Their Baskets In The Hall When The Sound Of The Car Dies Away.

We Know One Another. This Is The Present. There Is No Past And No Future. Here I Am Washing My Hands, And The Cracked Mirror Shows Me To Myself, Suspended As It Were, In Time; This Is Me, This Moment Will Not Pass.

Living As We Do In An Age Of Noise And Bluster, Success Is Now Measured Accordingly. We Must All Be Seen, And Heard, And On The Air.