R.W.2 Beauty will drink a toast at my wanton destruction (an event) / disclosing the cumbersomeness of my race like a rotting commode a tractor tries to outdistance / but is chained to by blood. Had we this. had we that.. imploringly we feed. I should have loved your double standard . . if need could invent love; here we have / bad blood / here we dream. Sending monsters into our Tokyo. The sun sets against the idea of caves thinking to have found a ledge. In the mornings . . Mozart and Villon, the singular of caress,cares. . We think we have stumbled on the sudden and secular secret that will just for us unlock worlds, well, won't it.7 the morning runs off and like an oxbow lake small life is stranded in these stagnant pools the blood in our minds, goes stale while the salt of life without / even becoming precious, concentrates to burn us where we've chosen to make our stands.