Zenhain the Wanderer #3
Strange hairs linger on the arm, near the palm where the wrist cut can bring no other glory. hunger eats in the belly of the passengers, this megalithic bus to the never end. lurching, crawling in the darkness, leaving the city behind. book clutched , a spell bound, this fainting thing near the rear. crossword puzzles between sobbing. a heavy sight for sore lives. bus lurching. ants biting on sacred ground, a resurrected group mind trapped between pages. encircling, steeping down grammaton, circling the dead workers. riding south out into the fog, the climate of the bus smooching close to the heart, windows tinted a black gaze. rapid adjust power. next stage. flea market cannibals, boarding skin and bone routine. move to the rear. no smoking in the dungeons, roll down sleeves. pangs of white faces bloodless, hunger belts out the stones of the gut. make none the eye contact. gripping clothes racks, white knuckle mania packed travelling. heavier the black bus mangles forth into the sun of mid-night.