Fragmented and detached laconic lullabies, the barbarians at the gate, a beast of war and exploding Israeli sunsets, thinly veined elephant trails and mechanical helicopter gun-ships, war and African famine; bubonic plagues and the rotting pastures of discarded camouflaged child-soldiers all scorched badly and laying there like broken adolescent statues with monkey grass and thistle-weeds growing through the charred turrets, blushing pink and gutted lips, a boot with a foot in it, bright red puddles and empty bullet casings, shells and beaten tanks, war and the lust for war, the late stages of endless black vomit.
Autumn leaves fall from the basement window, horses run in the rain, the harmful haze of coiled cobalt smoke from a far-away mannequin factory, a room heavily leaden with moving-debris-clouds, paralyzed orchids, stylized stitching and surgical incisions, the sad strawberry splotches of blood-good Japanese maple, the somber waltz of pale illusions and pretty tableau dolls, wealth and tranquility, ample ass and smooth rib cage; swollen rivers outside an ocean bowl of quiet blood-fields blotted with permanent rain, the rhythmic pulse of hemorrhaging vapors drifting through the endless veils of glossy dead eyes, the melancholy fall of light through the aching of the mournful window blinds.