I: Sapien Exolution

Just over two hunnerd an seventeen by a crooked shenanigined
mile I'd reckon were the vespers of the winterbreds I've come
across throughout my journeys over and about these Northlands
minding ye that ye wished I weren't there to prove it but I was.

And the stars that called out and pushed us all are still here to
reckon it, I'm a-feared. But they won't talk, nor whisper, not so's
you'd unnerstand 'em, see. Not here, not in graveyards; that's not
their business today nor in this particular quadrant of the globe.

I've done read and been told they've matters elsewhere foremost
along their shores of interpenetration, let me assure all of ye right
now.  But hithermost netherwas the backleast of a matter to me
when just the hide of it was always at stake and in the running.

And what would you know of the wind's goings and comings,
much less the stars'-? Next to nary a nothing, I'd wager in a
heartbeat and even the most primitive back lot.  Do ye really
care for a world lit up in orange flame shadows flickering from
discarded fifty-five gallon barrels of crude? Because that's rude.

Now the wick in a fallout's shelter hooded and crucibled for the
surviving excommunicant slave drone tribes of the fallen generations
from X and beyond (otherwise known as that period and cluster
burgeoning from the post-generational excess of the nineties)

and from heretowither withall anon and among us today a frenzy of
however whichway you'd care to re-member it for yourselves
appears not to be the matter at hand in this ongoing narrative woven
from the moment encircled by furrowed whorls in a relevant series
of fingering gestures passing over parchment like a player piano's
digital articulations cloaked in tautly pulled skin.

Understand a few things of this ongoing story, first there has never
been a proof undertaken on the wings of chance that balanced out
into the equation necessary to provide evidence in our world that
such a relation ship even exists in the first place, what does this do
for the fatalist today locked horns with science over the battlefield
of a holy war on terror (to say even less of the dreamer)?

Here we are the frozen elite cadre of dragons, manipulated not by
any  mysterious telekinetic force (unless you wish to consider fear
itself such) so begin to capitulate this:  the very sight of its enraptured
noticing of such a unique individual as you is enough to pinpoint
its narrowest pupils into slits through which their demons may step
through, a matter of hyperthermal dynamics too complex to really
get into here, suffice it to say a dragon doesn't breathe lightning
for nothing.  Humans are sentient vestigial organisms stranded out
in the open today and left behind in the dragon's wake.