When You Die It's The

Books Lie, He Said. God Dont Lie. No, Said The Judge. He Does Not. And These Are His Words. He Held Up A Chunk Of Rock. He Speaks In Stones And Trees, The Bones Of Things. The Squatters In Their Rags Nodded Among Themselves And Were Soon Reckoning Him Correct, This Man Of Learning, In All His Speculations, And This The Judge Encouraged Until They Were Right Proselytes Of The New Order Whereupon He Laughed At Them For Fools.

By The Time I Was Sixteen I Had Read Many Books And I Had Become A Freethinker.

Doomed Enterprises Divide Lives Forever Into The Then And Now

This Is My Child, He Said. I Wash A Dead Man's Brains Out Of His Hair. That Is My Job.

Each Memory Recalled Must Do Some Violence To Its Origins.