Once again for the umpteenth time I found myself relating the story of my horrible marriage to someone, while reading to them Divorce and the Man Who Regained His Sanity and Other Poems, some post marriage autobiographically cathartic poetry. When this occurs I feel like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, driven to find someone to confess the tale of his sin, before he can continue on his way. It is at these moments when the story must be told. The person must be more than attentive; he must be spellbound.