Sitting in a tree—

                          following Time's puckish arrow leaving a faint vapor trail behind, a boy's future, faced from above.


When archetypes are traced as phrenology threat cloudslook like hypoxic veins blue as an angel's eyes with only a bottomless sky defaced with the keloid "failiors" reflecting of the murders we carry inside.


Here we are put to the test. Each weapon is a triumph of perverted education, another nervous Nell ascending to illusions of defense, "dreaming the myth along" as it passes the point of no return, sustaining the look of normalcy, nurturing while killing, a god strides across this world on his way back to the stars.


Lathed in secrecy inner institutions fume, immolated corpses of misbegotten lives aspiring to ashes, twisting sheaves of constituencies radicals cluster in fetal balls of deracinated smiles, stemming from old adherences, slither down coil around.