XXXII

     "Few more! Few few!"

     As though she was admonishing herself. As though she was wanting herself to believe in the moaning mystery she was going to work. As though things would fall wherever she wanted them to. As though a luck would be tied to time and be canvassed by the biddings of codes unknotted. As though a rage was to be supplanted if she did move forward. As though a spell would catch up with her if she said more than the expected. As though words would come gushing torpedic wields of waves and unbalance her, sucking her breath. As though things would not seem the way they should. As though all these maladies would be supplanted, she halted. Her heart was elevated rather than her eyes. A code was to be smashed and its birth was yet unknown. A tie of rage - a fixed constancy in thriving locks of biddings. What would not be arrived at. A logic pruned by time and savored by will. Things shredded by wank