A working title...

Not until my knees have hit soil. Life sure I shall make no sounds. I’ll make you scavenger from empty wider palms and tougher hugs greeting earth. Empty of weapon and love by then. I will become love by then.

Now seekin’ refuge from other company, they creep from neighbors in noise to ruins in silence and meadow. Discussing no thing but sun, wind, and resting bodies… Ah the need for one’s limbs to be cozy achieved with ease in close company.

Phil Aaron

It is because they only hear of the hero when they are dead years past or dying in the streets. That is all we know of the hero’s tale. America is it’s own succubus. A vampire taking bath in holy water. It is time to choose whether to be the water, or the flight of leather wings.

Not the coven foot nor pitchfork welding and horn-headed. He does not come in green of currency nor suits of silk. The true devil is made by man. The true devil is always echoing forward relentlessly. The true devil is time; time through exploration. Whether it is missed time or time missing. Time too slow for the suffering or just right for the wicked. Too early or too late for the lonely. Time you idiots, it’s always been time.