God Night

A brightly feathered crooner daffodils along a hidden creek the bombs mimicking raindrops cracking the halo of good dreams. Assassins are ever commonplace in critical condition is the human race following feint scents of rosaries misplaced. God never seemed so far-far-far away. The freshest plague is long since dead something is still raging in their heads fun house faces of the modern man stroking of the flesh-his only task. The four horsemen are encroaching fast upon the blistered sundials of wayward lambs futile to hoard or take cover from the blast Our mad-manna God knows where our soul is at.