Excellent tornadoes rip through this city of ruby blood and ivory bone. With precision, they cut down every den of vice including mine. The ravens used to visit me daily, bringing their gifts of scrap metal and creepy stories. The city is toxic now, like a lover that beats you and you stay because there is nowhere else for you to inhabit. The world is inhospitable and layered with the soot of all the good things the people have burned. The ravens do not come – choosing to eat the popcorn God throws for them as they watch Gomorrah burn.
Miniature Moon 