A hollow headed hood carries nothing so neat as scythe, but rather a wide, sloppy
gun metal sinking in the North Sea, cremation ash, snow day sky, dust in the corner of
a sharpened sickle. I feel my brothers and sisters turn in their frustrated graves.
Fear is a fluid with staying power and can easily moonlight as embalmer. Jumbling R.E.M
incarcerating the shadow spectrum like cadaver flesh bobbing in a bottle of