by D.R. James You’d like to move on beyond mean memory,skirt that peopled, hollow squalor, pack upyour numerous mind encampments whose smokycook fires now flicker, now flare on this or thatnostalgic hillside—sometimes like codedreminders, sometimes like brash blazes arousinganything but a simpering gratitudefor a brainscape stippled with so-called love.But then…
