The rapier is more silver than the moon. The horse, red eyed and fierce in the California night, is rearing up, and its rider points his sword toward the sky, and its tip seems to touch the lunar surface, dimpling it further between the craters.
When a political article starts like this, where can it go?
...a typical GQ hippie writer, just so impressed with himself and literary pretentions...trying to be another William Faulkner and coming off like a grade school English teacher...