Dazed hate, like cowards from the corn. Stalkers, cob shucking and cob sucking, it's in the program. The possums, the skunks, the rats, the worms. Something is rotting, the smell is awful, the stink is stinking, the puss is oozing, it's oozing from the pawns. Puss is oozing from their eyes.
Even the celebrations are tense, no calm, no easy joy. There is fragility, there is a thin line of teetering sanity, the wrecked baby minds. Fed dung for so long, fed the puke of lies. Gutless nausea, the running riot, the liquified waste. They crave the taste.
Shame is dead, it works no longer. The shameless are offering peace, they want to move along, they want to rule. But this winter is lit, the darkness is on the edge of town, near the swamps, where the snakes gather. They hiss like sissies, they cry. They do what they are told.