There are bus loads of you, train loads, cattle cars of souls...all bristling with his orders. It isn't, 'I run into one'...anymore. The 'exceptions', when I don't. I sit here, two finger typing...quite a crowd.
All of them 'bristling', staring, 'Village of the damned'! I'm friendly enough. It's their town, their world. He looks out the eyes of every one!
Worst I can do, is 'just be here'...and I am!
Amen!
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
Art: children of the damned, the movie, google pic
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