Tell him Coral has finally gone sour and the Pin is as crooked
as we all thought,” fryed Balkey and eyed the straight and tall,
the corrupt and cursed. They fled to the door without a word,
but burnt-out old Convic glanced back toward the young blade
with the scars, and then back to Balkey. “Stib! Come on now,
scarred one. You don’t want any part of the coming verse.”
But this brazen boy shook his head up at the dark purple lights
starring the ceiling above,
and he laughed a low chuckled that went guttural for breath
and then wheezed out high and soft. “You old timers can die
with the baby,” he gestured toward Balkey, who flared up at
the insult.
Baby? Baby! Sun above, few live men talked to Balkey like that.