Deter
The ninth month calls the tomatoes in and starts colorin' the sumacs a blood red. The frost flowers are bunched up beside the house patiently awaiting their cue from a clear and cold night sky impending. Life is plural, and divided into increments of unique shades that my enemies don't seem to either notice or appreciate. The earth is teaming with spectacular complexity, creating a beautiful broth right before their eyes and beneath their feet. They should be drowned in it and their soaked silhouettes displayed against a September sky to deter their kind from fucking around with our Mother Earth.
It has been said that horse thieves are not hanged for stealing horses -- they're hanged so that other horses don't get stolen.
It's past time to Deter. It's getting late.
PGSW
