What are you waiting for? I have seen you on this street corner for several hours, looking up and down the street? Who or what do you expect? Are you waiting for the Mongols to come racing down the street? Why are you engaging in magical thinking? Feeling the certainty of the void, you scratch the two sticks together and hope to create a fire. A million years ago when the world was young we were presentable then. We thought ourselves kings and victors conquering anything and everything that came before us. Funny how our victories do not seem so sweet and significant now. This is getting alarming. One of the thieves were saved. It was a winning percentage. You circle the campfire throwing bullets into the fire. You cackle like a jackal. Come down off of your cross-damned. Our version is the only version we know. We have been taught it for years and years. They would expect us to pass it on to others. Is this the season of weeping? Let us set fire to this bush. Yesterday we were here next to the tree, speaking to the stone. Looking for the barbarians. I am sure that they will invade the village very soon. We should be prepared. The thief comes in the middle of the night to steal away the souls of the sleeping. Give me your hand, embrace me. I remain in the dark. Would the tree be strong enough to hold our necks? What is this that we are asking for? We wait for the second coming, the angels flying in the skies. Today we are barking dogs, growling at our shadows. We shout at each other making ourselves more bigger, more threatening. The second is never as sweet as the first.