Magnificent, M. Thanks.
--- Michael Robison <
miker_zspider@yahoo.com> wrote:
> "He got up and walked out to the road. The
black
> shape
> of it running from dark to dark. Then a disant
low
> rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under
your
> feet. A sound without cognate and so
without
> description. Something imponderable shifting
out
> there
> in the dark. The earth itself contracting with
the
> cold. It did not come again. What time of year?
What
> age the child? He walked out into the road
and
> stood.
> The silence. The salitter drying from the earth.
The
> mudstained shapes of flooded cities burned to
the
> waterline. At a crossroads a ground set with
dolmen
> stones where the spoken bones of oracles
lay
> moldering. No sound but the wind. What will you
say?
> A
> living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a
quill
> with his small pen knife to scribe these things
in
> sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and
entabled
> moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal
my
> mouth with dirt."
>
> miker
>
>
>
>
>
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