it isn't particularly a new scar. starts before the beginning & ends post-coda. so you gotta buck up, chum. what are you going to do when this chicory beer disappears, in a gulp or two? you've got a nice warm wife in the other room all come to put the moving in the darkness on the waters back inside the mechanics. you're just back in the doppler, everything shifting as it gets closer or further away. wish you weren't colour blind. shadow facing the floor. shooting stars making like elvis, washed up bodies turning up in the strangest places. wolves in the pumpkin patch, mouthfuls of stringy orange guts. you keep talking about guts like you are mishima. you could win a goldfish at the carnival, though, come on out of your dark little yurt, your glyptodon hut. wash your dirty hair! get the ashes off your face. black out the buffalo on the wall. only draw the destroyer!