laushung

storming the beaches of my normandy leaving lasting impressions like a dorothy-whirlwind taking wichita with it. give me that clear-cut monochrome agriculture instead of these poppy-induced    technicolors. where daffodil-delights speak to me and conflicts erupt over synaptic boundries like world wars, amassing their armies at the front line. three words burning like napalm on metropolis canopies with the beaches of my normandy reflecting photon emissions on the solar winds of love. the brillant blast deafens the world and yet the silence is never replaced, just white noise in the background humming vacuum-death dirge