The pathos of these dolce, ethereal flute notes – enchant me, as too the artistry in my paintings, unattainable prior to the onset of my Furies; Pure, absorbed, all concaving concentration consumes Even amalgamates within my veins… Symbiotically returning me into that all solutionary, Angelic elusive Heaven. Yet the alien extrinsic pressures and irritants of the Underworld, penetrate by means of ambush into my sweet celestial happiness: How do you feel about a Section, Sylvia? The familiar Wards, Sections, Sagas and tablet-time Is my hair manifesting into Medusa’s serpents? Who’s Hades, if I am Persephone? Hypnotism. I revolt, I crumble, I die – Fie! And I hate you with all my anger! That September, I had gorged all the wild berries, Mushrooms and succulent chartreuse leaves. I left my fighting spirit in the Asylum Many years ago, as a child did in another time.