Screamers The world is awash in glitz and glimmer. Steel and concrete shine. Mirrored anthills rise. Cords and cables like chrome coated webs crisscross dawning skies. Lavish lords and luxurious ladies sashay through pristine ways And all is beautiful but for the beams and the voices. Everything and everyone screams... screams... screams. Blanket Maker An army marches. It is the color of dusty dollar bills uncrumpling against a tombstone sky. We barricade. We weaponize. We camouflage. A tank stampedes our way. Prepare for war. A line of women rises. They dare the tank to crush them down. It lurches forward. The oldest lady, in rippling threads, lays hands upon the rumbling beast. It flattens. Its green fades to copper and white. And as if it were a mere blanket, the elder folds the flattened tank and sets it lovingly aside. In this way she wins the war.
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