The Killing Machine

The Our Father

Daddy Long-Legs Moves To The City

Desperation Show

the burning jar

nosferatu

american gothic

the presents of loss

ourselves forsaken

our killing machine

salamander pond

our killing machine

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having stretched too many limbs out having stretched ourselves and our souls far out over the barren horizon we watch helpless. the black blur bolting by--our killing machine. it trails a smell a smell somewhere between lilacs and burning diesel fuel fueling this century's far too many idols. this machine. with our contentment we fuel its hissing steel. its slaughter. our murder.

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