You could feel it. The fear in that pristine howl writhing in throat. Something was wrong with the sunflowers. A genital cutting had brought the snowdusting on mutilated emotions.
A premonition warns. We are shining on wrong side, under dictates of religion. The cult will take care of mouth. You will celebrate the breaking up of man. The bone between the lips.
I am collecting the dirty threads of loyalty to stitch the amnesia. They were ready to applaud the demise of moon. No more sheen on the trees, lake and hills. I am hauling up the skeleton of the republic.