the banners are blowing steady (fully extended in the hot august wind) contemporary in style tightly trimmed and all gloriously dressed in the latest colors and hues it’s a fleeting distraction though as the caskets and children and grieving widows are rolled steadily across the burning tarmac
it’s the beginning of that inevitable two part proceeding a skotoma for the ages delusionary in nature rich in grays and eerily reminiscent of that foreign reign clipped in silence with dark roots of fear set deep in the bowels of a chapter of unimaginable sin
indifference as pronounced as the accompanying salutes haphazard sentiments that are cloaked in the horror of endless aborted days forgotten buggies and bunkers and rat packs how could the switch be set so wrong?
it’s truly an illusion (this way of the world) simple indulgence can grow so beastly and consuming try telling the tale to the tibetan monks or broad peak sherpas (those boys know how to get it done!) how to bask in the ice cold waters how to savor the lava hot falls couldn’t the others have figured this one out?
the flags have settled at half mass and are tinted in a charred yellow brown the lifeless dreams and inspirations now in the rear view leif running solo (exempt of his trusted gunners) ready for the numbered lines his eyes open to the ever changing enemy at hand