P-Registration

I sometimes dream of holocausts,

better perhaps the battle of some exotic races, like those of

EASTERN EUROPE and EURASIA.

dark eyes or light hair, slow motion weaving of men through the shells of abandoned edifice;

Iron-tanks crushing through a concrete haze, and red flags waving high from Pole to Pole

[this is a play on words].

The power of an idea is magnificent and unrelenting - that the arresting force of one uttered sentence, a once expressed sentiment,

one terrible possibility...

could drive someone to self-destruction.

Were a nation plagued by such...

Imagine that idea is a woman,

that she is vastly beautiful,

and that she stands beside you, gives you a glance, and smiles as she walks into the infinite depths of your subconscious.

but not before you catch the scent of her hair.