When Speculation Grows Hoarse

Screeching at the top of a hypodermic is where any decent writer should be, in a hospital bed overlooking a battlefield where swans have been de-flowered by Mexican mice. Where the august storms have blown dust into the military tribunal parking spaces that have just been crushed under the tracks of tanks. The body of three star generals nailed in full uniform to gurneys awaiting cross-examination.

- Chris Mansel