Justine and Margie had decided to take the lead in the revolt. They were discussing in muttered tones in their little brother Charlie's room. As he was only two years old, he would not be capable of ... [+]
In a city of black death, white memoryial cloud clopped to meet me on Broad street. The city, desperately crying itself clean after the murder of Walter Wallace Jr., and I meandering toward myrrh and frankincense for a more intimate ritual. We, too fragile for this moment. The goddess uncaring, birthing. I watch water curtain split as a brown skinned white bearded sun breached. Becoming in white coat white top hat, and seated behind grey horses pulling white glass carriage carrying white coffin. The memoryial trust. This present futures sight seized my ghost as right hand clawed left breast. P