your clandestine appearances
you are if nothing else. consistent.
the modified us asked you to stop coming around and sucking out the ideas we have in our heads. leave us alone to do our art. but. no.
your world is still, and clear. and. mean. there are some. precious things.
you will never find. we are sort of on to your scary ability to seduce. but we have become like monks. we are in exile, and have wandered now deep into the roots of things.
you are a thousand times ten a survivor to your bones and you so camouflage the contempt that burns in your bowels like lead.
i am too much like you.
but they are the hatchlings. when you hit town, you brought with you a thousand years of storms gone dark. when they hit town, what they brought with them was the wilderness.