No Return

I like divorce. I love to compose letters of resignation; now and then I send one in and leave in a lemon- hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor. Do you like the scent of a hollyhock? To each his own. I love a burning bridge. I like to watch the small boat go over the falls -- it swirls in a circle like a dog coiling for sleep, and its frail bow pokes blindly out over the falls' lip a little and a little more and then too much, and then the boat's nose dives and butt flips up so that the boat points doomily down and the screams of the soon-to-be-dead last longer by echo than the screamers do. Let's go to the videotape, the news- caster intones, and the control room does, and the boat explodes again and again.