the merchant of Tau
in his fortress of sand
burying his thoughts
beneath a wind
bleaching the fence
that
separates
the sea
and the sand
bleaching his thoughts
with red death
and willfully
foregoing
a minute amount
of
hope
in the time machine
his sand clock ticking
and his memory wrung clean
kicking the acre of black boot
reminders
to stand at the vessel
to sing when spoken to
to sling a stone in Gabriels
face
and say is that scorpion for me
or you