Feeling a feeding frenzy fire up the five on loss, four fetch a fence in defence. Taking no chance to wait for minutes to pass them by, the scurry is fervent, hurried like a cane of sugar on the back of a small child's legs.
It's the sweetness that brings the tears. It's the tears that brings the salt. And it's the salt that brings the shots. Shots over ground and along the whistling of the long and tall grass. Blades for the green frequent witness to red soon cold enough into brown and black.
Despite the maddening scene of it all, it creates a hinted sense of a soundtrack. The thudding of rushing feet cause and case for the bass. A systemic ride into the screams a hymn for the trembling treble.
Everybody has their tune, everybody has a melody to ride with. When the dreams and nightmares escape into each other they sing each other's song.
Written on Wednesday, 5 July 2006