the wind was like a sidewinder
missile. desert below kept itself
cratered and ancient, 'fraid of
some explosion from a Greater
Deity of Temporal Landlock.
Where the lesser of us saw death,
the better of us saw livers. Where
the lesser of us saw loss, the better
of us felt drunk. The learn-ed belief
in the existence of the Human Race
kept calling itself back to base with
tinnitus raging in its ear-drums:
"the dreams of the elder chiropractic
surgeon are the same as the dreams
of the youthful architect: design; that's
it. design."

melded, eaten, forgotten, and left to the
bunchy blood of 'ask,' the marauder saw
herself as complete. flawed within bound,
angry within reason, there was a little angel
on her shoulder, asking: 'sundown? this is a
time for bringers. never those who forget.'