Absurdity of a degenerate guise unable to read the signs: Nature's coiled like a snake before warnings of this ominous mound.
Stars don't blink but stare down to a dune wind-sheared into a spectrum of lethal light, a militant meteorology of unripe thoughts
It is the witching hour—


Death jumps through mechanical hoops, scooping up and topping off megatons of protore shrouding reservations, Rio Lethe systematically contaminating suburban lawns too.


Green is the color of the soul reflecting boomerang-like rabbit sticks, abalone shells and pendants on long flights of erratic loops, reclaiming dismembered vines.