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Sacrificed Scrupulous scoundrels hound for meat that is your life, for a pulsing shred still alive; those beggared demons dying dry, their noses too, gasping the surface for air in survival's fight, in drab days flowing over ebbing, a thirst insatiate with mediocrity in fear their fraudulence will fail, folding potencies of  evil; all those angular edges turned in smooth the final hours of decimation calling. Until the lion-munched lamb sheds its red redemption, bailing us out, nudging us back into the fray that banal fiend now dominates, where pins prick, glass still cuts to love you back to life, back to the bone-sheathed marrow--out of the dull dead all around you. poem by Darrell Rohling e-mail him at djrohling@aol.com