I dreamt of an old woman riding a horse, it was a chalk white color and most of its stomach had been torn out, when it walked greasy black rats were pouring out of it in an endless arc and stream, the spilled guts sizzled and boiled in crude puddles, some of the rats were dead and burnt as they hit the ground. The old lady never looked, she never turned her head, she sat there on top of the horse like a statue waiting to slay the breathing grief.