Images of desperation fall from the sky in every language and art in a torrent of blinding snow.
On the ground the wolves herd the blinded sheep toward the kill zone.
I look up to the sky and see these sleeping giants and wonder, “How can they see in this eternal confusion?
I dare not believe their reports nor their sleepy visions of utopia nor the threats of apocalypse yet to come.
It's not that I believe what they say is always false; It's because of what they say is always real that I have cancelled my subscription.
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