Gang members in stained jackets march down forgotten avenues. Electric vines are vomited from the cracks in the cement, gnawing at the numb cattle like starving cobras. Some boy asks a girl” “Want to dance in Dusk's caress?” when the moon burnt out centuries ago. One can still catch a glance of a star in martial law. The police adorn themselves in white robes and brandish manufactured chemicals at us unruly. To protect and pacify. We're already imprisoned in forests of gray matter. Life is aborted over and over again to produce stem cells for the prison system. Solitude through socialization. Remember, butterflies always congregate but never speak. Love is revolution.