the executionerA Poem by Fra/c/tureat first glance there's a beautiful mind and such potential, but beneath it's bent on bringing out the dead from their peaceful sleep, like so much pulp fiction masking the perfect storm, and the entire canvas is bleak vanilla sky painted watery white by an artist with eyes wide shut, the score a looping siren-song performed faithfully by the silence of the lambs on their way to slaughter, the shining in their unkowing eyes vibrating a stir of echoes from the deep, but the black panic ripples away harmlessly as a time to kill grows close and what dreams may come give no relief to the dreamers--the sheep in line, in waiting, in total trust of the machinist, an american psycho with a hair trigger and a cool hand, luke
© 2008 Fra/c/tureReviews
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4 Reviews Added on May 12, 2008 Last Updated on May 13, 2008 Author
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