Raw, broken bones, bleeding fists maximum velocity like speeding trains collide head on buckling and screeching off the rails spilling mangled luggage leather suitcases floating fluttering briefings and slips slip through the chaotic momentum. Momentos, like tiny copper pendulums and dull silver letter openers clatter along polished wooden surfaces leaving trails in the dust leading back to the places they once slept untended in times of squandered peace. This power, the very essence of soft cool tranquility. can we speak like this.ripped from the soil tap root and extremities removed or left to rot. It is hypnotic, carnal, lust for battered bodies resting in scars left by shifting earth, impossibly heavy stone crumbled apart, faults grinding like molars of a captive, a victim of torture. Call it sick, a sin, problematic. When a shard of the universe flung through measures of space squelches this place between its toes, i know you'll watch the sky ignite and fall on top of your pure home. Just like i'll watch a fist fight between muggers or mothers who want no less than to see suffering. Power breeds only power to gain, peace means sacrifice, and never will there ever be a group of human beings willing to sacrifice. Instinct is our corruption. Fighting it is a fight you lose.

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