Dance in fire and you will be rewarded with pain and a story.
Stab at the nest that bore you and you will find the gears that move your heart will stutter.
Performing atop the sensational golden clocktower is enough to make any woman quake and tremble, be sure to curtsy after you are done, or you may be pushed to the garden below.
My blood has clogged with evolution
The curved teeth of the key clacked when I turned it, it was sloppy but it got the job done. I had found her, hiding in the white light behind the oak wall.
I climbed the radio tower because I wanted to find the voices, but I found only the choir where God lives.
Regular wars are boring but they are cathartic, men must fight and women must weap.
Stabbing out of the ground were bamboo shoots carved into sharp spears, I was afraid to go any further. Keep your distance children, he is around here somewhere, the liar and the cheat that had spooked the townspeople, the traders with the two humped turbans, the blasphemed.
The mist is therapy, the sand is destitute.
The lethargic old man at the corner store had told me where I would live and where I would die, he read my palm and laughed, I pointed to the streetpost down the street and he nodded. I fell to my knees and clung to the asphalt, and a strong gust of wind flung him into it.
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