They want to be torn into small pieces and scattered in the wind off bridges. In their offices, nothing moves of its own accord, the air conditioning sucks oil from the earth, the lights flood James Bay, and the computers never sleep.
Mountain lions prowl the reservoir villages.
The seasons have collapsed. We bring mass murders to the New World and beg for peace as they feed on our horror as mites feed on dust on the floor, in our beds, on our eyelids, everywhere.