The Killing Machine

The Our Father

Daddy Long-Legs
Moves ToThe City

Desperation Show

the burning jar


american gothic

the presents of loss

ourselves forsaken

our killing machine

salamander pond

our killing machine

having stretched too many limbs out having stretched ourselves and our souls far out over the barren horizon we watch helpless. the black blur bolting by--our killing machine. it trails a smell a smell somewhere between lilacs and burning diesel fuel fueling this century's far too many idols. this machine. with our contentment we fuel its hissing steel. its slaughter. our murder.

2River Crossing My WordsScared by the DarkThe Killing MachineCover