Between the freezing high peaks of terror and endless summer on pacifist flood-plains lies the four-seasons landscaping of the threat.

I loved you, so I drew these tides of

Men into my hands

And wrote my will across the

Sky and stars

To earn you Total Landscaping, the Four

Pillared worthy house,

That your eyes might be

Shining for me

When we came

Turning and turning in the widening gyre / the garden-gnome cannot see the landscaper / things fall apart / the cockpit cannot hold / more republican blood is spilled on Pennsylvania’s soil

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in this desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

I am the Four Seasons Total Landscaping Gnome;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

“I was walking along the road with two friends – the sun was setting – suddenly the sky turned blood red – I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence – there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city – my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I sensed an infinite scream passing through the Four Season’s Landscaping lot. "