terse gaze

..to write this way is like raving or a cloud.
-Dostoevsky

Watchful eyes and the charms of our idols, the icons and passing, falling towers. A ballistic capital, the bells and frost morgues, a funeral of leafy wheel-barrows and inky tablets, the insides of a dead soul, glass jars in the street, library cataclysm, the literary beauties and raw youth. Niagara downpour, lemony fingers, tsunami debris, inhuman cattle herds, the slow-slated stone tiles and awning of dozy, lethargic roofs, the slothful arms of sleepy zombies, the urgent surge and precinct assault, a cutlass machete, starving windmill, howling apocalypse.