What no-account has left the lights on? Whose voudou- bandolier toy we with at Mesa…

The escalators carry one down into the stench of slaughter long tiled over. Wristwatches, lighters,…

A chit of Uhlans flaked from the order of battle, milling bogside beneath a glowering…

Prophecy is down upon all fours, ursine spirit quivering out its little complaints. Fastidious angels…

Thin vomit of words is its own reward, meant to invite return, either to sponge…