Pistol

A mainstream being of a timely culture with the likes of black, bare-blown vultures circling a plane of sky, flying higher than a natural high, clawing at scalps, and branches, and what appeared as ropes, lassoing aerials, wrenching them down, they them and their hopes like a prolific stream of ideas dragged into a trap for fools, furrowing, helplessly, humiliated it seemed, below. O, how I bargained for a different setting, but was forced out, watched, spectated merely, empty-handed and wholehearted.