ANGLES--memory of the Viet-Nam Ransom

Partying in Viet-Nam: the pocked flattery and the ladled chaff. An evening flair above the killing stress. A skull desert struck by truce of happy brick frowns once friends of the garden-projection take to discord. Held mum by the bona-fide reverie; as turned as the loop. The buttocks swilling at the sea where the green tree dies. One shrill escape has vent to others, and those vault yet another. The blanket chatter becomes distraught as a city-den-mothers squalor with her silhouette. Hush: The rasp noise of the night-things. Zoo's breathing in odious dread-of-sound and hunt of scum hide the slept citizen from the rant:off from an intangible extension of an awakening god. Red blood of our spit, the red ache of more nothing crept to its knees and wept. The rat-gut in the rifle barrel stopped the ram-rod. The pitless cherry of a monsooned rodents cry. The raped orgasm of light bore the slanted venom tender unleashed, and jived through sticky spoons and grass bums, untill the barrel flushed with hot water. The mud that caked her lips and stumpy gums broke apart our heart. "I'm crying real blood while the gook shoots me up." A pungi stick through the vampires heart, he'll suck no more.