to be deleted.

 {This poem/story does exist. I'll type it this week, if not today.} 

A valley adorned and composed of heavenly white grass and  the undulations of the ground dotted all throughout with tipis  and inhabitants and small trees shorter than the dwellings  spread a distance of miles into the west and the yellow sun  that cavorted like an intoxicated ballerina in its raw helium  and God, weary with hope and contempt for his own fatigue,  bore witness to that landscape and told himself, yet again,  he might've come to the place where he'd meet a suitable bride.  The concept of children was still a theoretical/academic one  for the creator. He'd been born out of the sea with fish, crus-  taceans, remarkably few mammals and none of those immortals  as God had understood himself to be somewhere about his third  century of life...and so there were no elders before him to provide  answers for his queries, not even false one the lone wanderer  might tease apart for clues of his origin and the neces...

God awoke from dreaming of a crimson-colored planet  whose image and presence shattered as he breathed in  the sight of this world punctuated by fields and trees  and primitive animals and plants frequently poisoning  and frequently nourishing.  In God's dream the planet tasted richly of iron  and warned of being volatile and its mercurial  atmosphere hummed of the phantom universe  that sired this one and naming it after a prestigious  god of war would be agreeable to any living creature  had such gods and the forces they were associated with  been paired with names at that time. That place  was astonishingly free of all impressive formations  save caves and mountains -- no rivers nor oceans  no consequential bodies of water at all among  the aftermath and debris of asteroids and stardust  expelled from voids at the origin of time. And God alone  was audience to its majesty. Nomadic to the experience...

Glittering light that did not belong to gravity but some other present wordless dimension moved over the horizon about her and through her bones and her cells and the particles thick & thin within her blood tumbled out, away as if given by some earthly obligation to a fate she wasn't permitted to decide. "That's her." She felt cold but did not shiver, did not experience discomfort, her breath still echoing through her heart and her lungs. "Gee, ya think." And even some trace of their voices could be discerned. "Whatever. Get the legs." The exterior world was hollow, yet of a substance that reverberated from its core into the outer tangible. "Lift." And she knew who she was, her memories quite preserved in that final challenge. She knew it was the city, nothing else, not some distant place in a distance unknowable to humans.  Two doors pulled closed. And an odor antiseptic, white, pure, docile. The momentum of being drawn away from the...

The boy named Heston pierced the skin of the apple  with his strong, healthy teeth and the ripe fruit's juices  slid from the asymmetrical indentation upon his wicked  hand and he smiled approvingly at the sun that  posted in the sky like a deathgod and burned  reflexively, unemotionally for all the things great  and infinitesimal including Heston and his apple.  He'd been turning over the "wisdom" of that morning's rally/lecture  and he was familiar with the terminology and examples the  speaker'd used and Heston's memory sparkled with the raw  sensation of the words and in the promise of war  the speaker had detailed Heston witnessed the purpose of his muscle,  the thought of the sniper rifle set along his arm where  one hand cuddled the trigger and the other hand supported the body  and his trained eye discovering the confined world in the targeting-scope  and he thought how similar these things would be to th...

A wise and gentle monk in the denouement of his morning rituals  thought to walk beyond the familiarity of the monastery's walls.  The monastery itself did not require him to do so.  There were animals for slaughter, plenty of grain, vegetables,  clean water. Nor did they require clothing, furniture of  any kind, nor psychological, nor medical assistance.  The monk was guided by individualistic motives.  A voice much like his own rose from the depth of  his chakras, his being, commanding the monk to  eavesdrop on the laypeople of the world to  perhaps reconsider their vanity and the delusions  thereof.  This monk had lived several lives, and he thought about  these as he made the journey from his temple  to the larger, outer world. There was no deficit of errors  in his history. He'd been a disobedient child and a thief  and a liar. He'd been covetous, an adulterer, a scam artist.  He'd yet to deprive a...