Wednesday, December 16, 2015


We have marbles where once there was 
only the sun  -  sinning 'round campfires, 
heating the scene. This sand is like hot glass, 
a sentiment without guile. The way a shadow 
flips around here, in the course of a day, 
is completely disconcerting to me. 
Level ground for a crooked mind.
Nothing has ever prepared for for failure, 
and a failure right now would mean we 
would die. Set out to bronze, with our
skin like new leather. Brutal stuff, yes.
I cashed in my last load of feedback cards
at the last crossing of a border  - what was that,
again, I forge the name? Those agents seemed
more worried about smuggling and what they 
could get from us, then they ever cared 
about us. Do you think they had wives
and families? Can you imagine they
once had mothers too? 

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