So you are back,
                         o loneliness.
                        O desolate prison
                                                  of all idealists.
                        O cold bosom
                                             of all those who know
                                                                      how to love purely.
                        O retched haven
                                                 of all those who still nurse
                                                                          a healthy conscience
                                                                                        within themselves.
                        O devouring mother.
                        O beguiling father.
                        O unforgiving God.
                        O poor, poor third world country.

So you are back to me.
So you are back.
                         O accursed

July 1996