Time is of the essence. My babies have out-stripped your time and mine. Stand before me aged beyond sorrow. Ripped from my breast. Their past parted from mine.
Time flows quicker than the hours sundered from love, though it counts the seconds till our death.
His experiences leave him no choice. Al is off to the desert, the birthplace of humanity and spirituality. The desert stands heavy upon my being. I am lost amidst this land of soured milk whose rancid honey drips like the puss of a day old wound. The skeletons that pervade my existence chant the same dogged words fearing only their neighbors wandering eyes and self-same traditional mania.