the prose will come like a flood upon parched earth. as it has always come, resounding and illuminating from your eyes. would that i held back the gates with the strength of a thousand herculean giants to suppress such a flood. but i am destined, as you are, to fling open the gates and stand erect as water and wind blister and
seer the pores. chastise the very core of what it is to be a siren ...