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The treachery of man brings light to the morning, laughter to the children, oil to dry axles and nectarines to hungry bats.
Blind greed nourishes ailing flower gardens and sends crates of penicillin to underdeveloped countries.
Bastard sons of horrendous bitches donate impressive volumes of blood to mobile Red Cross vans.
The lionfish hovers, tendrils lightly wafting brown and yellow; copied by the anemone with a dash of pink and purple; they are pretty; we do not see their poisons.
Homicidal insanity washes dirty windows, sings carrolls in snowy streets, air-lifting suburban folk fearfully perched on roofs above forty rainy days.
The hope-rekindled recipients of these seemingly selfless gifts give thanks, reassured that God is their fairy godmother and the savior spoken of by their forefathers is skipping into town.
But after winning the charisma contests, the profit motive moguls' Halloween costumes come off after a tiresome night of trick and treating;
and before going to sleep, they read the agenda for tomorrow's charity under the light of a lamp whose shade is made from human skin.