And red-gold thrones of gods without a name
Who shriek in fear at some impending fate.
Then a black gulf with sea-sounds in the night:
"Here was your home," he mocked, "when you had sight!"
LATE REVENGE
by Duane W. Rimel
Spawn of the cellars, rising black,
Midst darkened doorways, out a crack;
To wither each bright blade of grass,