The flute of Pan calls as the wind coils round.

And the ricochet of noise flutters below Assault of tentacles strangled by sound and brightly flashing butterfly mines glow Maliciously hammering a cadence For no purpose other than to keep score Living in a future progressive tense, On the wrong side of battle, I waged war Declarations of sore anxieties Brewing tensions beneath the wooden floorboard Scatters among Secret Societies Suffocating silence, beating a chord Gestational morality passes Playing to self aggrandizing masses