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. "