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The
Killing Machine
The
Our Father
Daddy
Long-Legs
Moves ToThe City
Desperation
Show
the
burning jar
nosferatu
american
gothic
the
presents of loss
ourselves
forsaken
our
killing machine
salamander
pond
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our killing machine
having stretched
too many limbs out having stretched ourselves and our souls far
out over the barren horizon we watch helpless. the black blur bolting
by--our killing machine. it trails a smell a smell somewhere between
lilacs and burning diesel fuel fueling this century's far too many
idols. this machine. with our contentment we fuel its hissing steel.
its slaughter. our murder.
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