Robyn Trower called from his tower of sighs. He wants everything to be perfect. Gamble with the past and you may strike it rich. Miniature ambulances and tokens of regret are both die cast in a factory in China, on a once lonely country hillside, now saddled with the busy hands and minds of machines; all this while men lay silent and wait. Cords bind and words wound. Time is tuned to the foundries of the earth, long forgotten when the land was cooled and blessed and cursed.
Novels, Stories, and Poems
The Replanted Writer 