Grey dust settles from spewed volcano all over town. Rumbling of angry gods penetrates walls and windows and dismembers shelves. It’s a fine grain. Powder, really. A strange dry, lifeblood. To dip your finger in it doesn’t seem real. Proof that our physical beings bear no weight, our bodies are temporary solutions to the concept of physical existence. Volcano, Pompeii, maddening. Hawaii, Montana, Mt. Etna, Sicily. Do we not come from all these places? Mother Nature gives birth and it is hot and ugly and fatal. Fawkes collapsing. Will he be the only one to be born again? Heat consuming just because it’s near. Not even by touch. Oppressive lust. It will burn us all from within. Crisis powder. A mask unintentionally worn when scary things happen. Out of our control, unexpected, beyond a 911 call. Keep walking toward the light. It will all be over soon.