Thursday, January 6, 2011

They Came Wearing Robes of Crimson And Black

I stripped to the waist and sang our death song there in the black bird rain, face and torso smeared with blood and coal ash, entirely convinced. When the rain abated, I was left to endure the smirks of neighbors and the questions of local law enforcement standing among still birds by the thousands. The entrepreneurial spirits filled trash bags with their bodies for possible E-Bay sale later. The scientific community began there inquiries with academic dispassion and great self importance.  And the old man on the corner sang, "A band of Angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home".  It was then that I saw and began to wail, to tear at my breast, to gnash my teeth

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