the props are the horses we ride around the mountain to the horns and snares of schostakovich
this modern warfare on the street is an incessant sonic assault. when you put your armour on do not forget your ears. it is not the world of my imagining but it must be the best of worlds because it is the world there is. another siren interrupts the rumble of the subway. i think i saw a thought on the A train, but i got pulled off uptown. chewed up and spat out a dime i never had rolled along the pavement. slowing winding down and spinning upon itself flat.