So commonplace now, the trickle down gun shot tears…from a mad clown.
Only means of recourse, to recover the slanted mind from the sand…
somehow.
No vacancy messages.
Airwaves telling of what is to come.
…
There are three crows circling from above.
What does NOW hate…know of love?
…
I could walk the tilted land endlessly searching the heaven’s below.
Rummaging the hell above.
The question will remain…
What does NOW hate…know of love?
