When they dragged the victims of every bad idea out of the mauve river of industrial regret, I wept. The remnants of innocence lay decomposing in various shades of gray beneath the judgmental sun. Angels in this land are silent. Psalms transmutated to shrouds of golden cheese cloth. Housewives everywhere adorn themselves with moods of crimson and royal purple. Domesticity wears a mini skirt and teaches me to beat the devil at every arcade game. Innocence once wept with me when I buried my inexperience at the altar of fear. Now I watch her crumble and blow away along the banks of a river that will claim my grandchildren.
Miniature Moon 