VULTURE 1748

(painters' interpretation)

was it a good or bad libido that led the morning twilight of the young targeteers to the untrodden peaks of night in Orthodoxy's wild thickets in the dense clusters of panic's cypresses in the moral projection of a harsh Fate in the colonnade of reveille and lethargy?

Who was the instigator of the mutiny? of the rumour? of the passion? the orator? were they loyal to the command — of who else? of the commanders — fine patricides and pederasts with only the parasemantics of necrophilia as justification in the successive — incredibly harsh — attacks of the doxographers?

Perhaps — listen, o lads, — the industrious painters' metaphysical realm is to be found hidden in the hanging paintings?

And while the war hatchets rain down upon heads and the ravines hum with the ruin of battle and the hymns of saintly warriors a voice is heard:

"Mirko Kralis, what are you after? this is no playground: this is the Balkans"