Everything is massive, it has its own pulse, thuds and thumps and it should not have breadth. Eyes open, shooting out of the molten ground, all around the earth is hot white, it's running, it is screaming.
Mutant springs root up from the rock, things in the far off places. It splits and is pounding.
Where is it's face? Where is it's face?
Always, there was someone watching the birds. Now unbeknownst, it is heavy and guttural, with no love lost between the two.
|