Communiqué After Running Thirty Miles

An inauspicious morning.  After six days of fasting.  Arrives in the center of town.  To the consternation of the sentries.  A beautiful interloper.  Strangely garbed.  Face like a halved apple.  White and core.  Keenly.  To the disquiet.  Of our women and horses.  Connoting bad checks.  And warm nectar.  Takes up residence.  In the sheriff's house.  Three days later.  Everyone dead. Or mad.