Rome's Riches Are In Too

Rome's Riches Are In Too Immediate Juxtaposition. Under The Lid Of Awful August Heat, One Moves Dizzily From Church To Palace To Fountain To Ruin, A Single Fly At A Banquet, Not Knowing Where To Light.

Ballet's Image Of Perfection Is Fashioned Amid A Milieu Of Wracked Bodies, Fevered Imaginations, Balkan Intrigue And Sulfurous Hatreds Where Anything Is Likely, And Dancers Know It.

Hair Brings One’s Self-image Into Focus; It Is Vanity’s Proving Ground. Hair Is Terribly Personal, A Tangle Of Mysterious Prejudices

A Plane Is A Bad Place For An All-out Sleep, But A Good Place To Begin Rest And Recovery From The Trip To The Faraway Places You've Been, A Decompression Chamber Between Here And There. Though A Plane Is Not The Ideal Place Really To Think, To Reassess Or Reevaluate Things, It Is A Great Place To Have The Illusion Of Doing So, And Often The Illusion Will Suffice.

How Is The Newcomer To Deal With Rome? What Is One To Make Of This Marble Rubble, This Milk Of Wolves, This Blood Of Caesars, This Sunrise Of Renaissance, This Baroquery Of Blown Stone, This Warm Hive Of Italians, This Antipasto Of Civilization?