Warfare Radiator hums against isolation of window, sound competes for space in air. All night war wages between implosions of neon, violence of magenta paints our eyes. There is no room for things natural. Even movement is controlled, premeditated. Breathing becomes intentional, living becomes necessary. When I reach for you my hands are mercenaries to the heart of your country. Here the war is similar and redundant. - Megan Pacheo