A killer's face is painted red, misguided, drops behind.
Though piecemeal now, a vein-drawn leaf, its heart bleeds purple pain,
he circles round surveillance crews, ignores the nervous strain.
Tightened fast his large hands grasp, delinquencies abound,
Red luxury pours its constant theme, the new deal sides expound.
Exaggerated-raining time has left the woodland shocked,
the killer stalks the broken ground, where merry miners flocked.
No words can stand the fraud mundane, predictive flags will tear.
No sounds can hold the angry heart, no thoughts contain the square.
Predictive measures indicate the black-box backward point,
Toward sleepy compound cotton caulk and universal joint.
While information burns the thoughts, he fills the bucket high,
the killer looks past the cloudy man and drinks the cool-aid dry.
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