As an exercise in astral art I painted staring eyes on the battlements of my stone head. I could hear the enemy in the distance composing rhyming couplets beside their ragworm camp fires; as a mandatory response I wrote rather abstruse verse on the camouflaged carapace of a mechanical crab. There was apparently a brief respite from the dark winged days and I curled up in the powder chamber of my heavy artillery piece to fire the lead shot of my imagination. As a pacifist I fired only at blank patches of earth; having cleared it of all recognisable forms of life. I then followed the faux animal foot prints out of my old stamping ground and onto pastures new, where I spent some time measuring the distance between dead flowers in readiness for the promise of a Spring display.