it was quiet from where i stood last night....the glorious clouds as the storm moved on, having issued forth its message from the natures...oh grand of waters...
the platforms having only the excesses to confront-concrete against flesh, they might have a chance yet.
that had not been the case mere days earlier, where the call had come-yet again-a routine dance that challenged mortality to a death step if it had the courage to come to the stage. in this case, death was ill prepared for the ritualistic movements...the sinuous patterns as they swayed and slid across the floor, as fluid as the blood being splashed.
there had been much loss in the flow, but life was not to be the one to lose the most, just dignity....yet again. the intermingling between the dirt and filth, and the juices of the living as they splashed downward blending and choking the concrete, all porous and helpless in this onslaught against its surface. still, life was retained.
last night there were remnants still, the concrete not eager to deflect the past as it clung to that which had sullied its good face. there would be much brushing and stroking in an effort to convince it of the folly in retaining a memento to the past....a blood relic is a relic not needed...or desired, when it becomes as quickly faceless as this was destined.
still.
