great quake

i made my self soar

high above the plains

an' looked down below,

far,

to view the pinpoint,

blue mixed crimson,

yellow lights,

flickering like

fiery sparks of,

red spawn

like the dust of struck torches

and canvas soaked

kerosine . . .

an' saw swirling spirits,

swarming,

affecting

those left alive

though walking

dead,

like the specters of

yesterday's

yellowed newspaper,

brittle,

stained,

an' still pungent

like it's aged inked cellulose,

torpid,

from repetitious,

mindless,

walking,

talking,

doing

but

not doing . . .

the dusty ground

shook

i lost the balance of

my mind

voices screamed

cars careened

chaotic scene

an' those

who still walked

came alive

at his glorious

return

pray,

whilst time,

exists . . .

to escape,

the great quake