Like bugs on torn,shredded greens, Ant treaded,and mice grated; The air lies cold,a resonating stillness, Shutters blind eyes,of the intangible rebuttals.
Sputter and liven,faint and grow, Anticipating distaste,Stunning your fonder; Of roundabout glee and wicked fantasy, Winding paths filled with traps and pitfalls;
She speaks her finest,unpredictable strokes, Grumbles to satisfaction,tinge of fickle stunts, Silence bestows,bold the red parallels, Hide in the consuming distress, The recumbent shock.