Things Are Disappearing All Around

Love and Revenge have brought desolate lessons, it seemed every life that ever was fell apart under its own makeshift boredom. Monsoon of nothing down down and down an exasperated hill of sloped mud bodies clawing at the skin seat at the sinking quicksand top, child-fraught with anger, fear, chaotic among the suggested organizations, unable to hold on to the purpose or shell-shedding philosophy of a prayer or a season. Empires and Natural Disasters raising raging hell into the skies, the processions of funerals, black spike outhouses, the stages of the violent weddings take hold, every minute every extra day a judgment for those still living and no other. Bodies draped across the wires of disease-ridden communication, folded into the smoke alley, frozen for good between the grime and prison brick and lines of moss that cover it up. The drunk traveler - true as the molten bending river stars - dressing with purpose amid white noise and diesel, grinding grating rumble and horn, shotbled to blind and served up to Executioner Truth, that madman at the shrieking lava organ