The sun came up. I could hear the weapons growling,

yammering, No intercom. The building posted warnings

on this wall and that, but the scientist didn’t care.

Some bluetick licked

and liked my one-speed bike,

my life.

There are worse things to fear

than getting bitten.

 

The sun came down.

Do they look like killers?

They do!

 

The horse shoots (condensed milk).

The linguist admitted confusion, pristine casings.

The cameras of state television crews could see clearly.

 

No intercom.

The sun came up as the sun came down.

I could hear the weapons talking to the horse.

Do I look like a killer to you?

The bluetick yammering.