thunder came and the tribe dispersed --tenth rendering of  scorpion corp's mission statement her voice holds mortality singing from the mezzanine,  longing- drug laced muezzin  candy from the decadent popsicle fields of aksmen askwomen dot cosmos godlets, he said. rivulets on the windshield. it would be good to speak of the grains of sand spread over her feet,  the salt  in her hair , her hair again in your eyes. let's meet  in the grass without blame . let it stain your shoes and remove them,  run bare across her gaze. the tower's built again and again.   mathematics  tries to code into architecture, a unity of panes lintels and posts , a conflagration of ideas interstate truck growling up the staircase to clouds. flight's desire. feather spin spin, twist gyre , breath and bone and tendon masters the curve of wind. the romantic sits by her computer thinking of nexxus and copyright. an hour of waiting for the movie to begin. she hopes there are subtitles in three of her languages: mood, grace & scent. when she tells your story, please raise your hand and walk to the top of a pyramid. here are 17 , impacted in the sands of egypt  extracted by infrared satellite from the dust of all the deaths  you've felt since she left. her voice has gone tremelo reaching into your eyes pulling heaven from them in a thousand new dialects.