I would rather
 create a flower,
 a carmine red flower,
 the petals perfectly smooth
 a drop of morning dew,
 implying
 an intoxicating perfume.

 I would rather
 create a dance
 a strong and vigorous dance
 the rhythm, the power
 the coherence of the sinuous moves
 evoking a desire for the product.

 Why is it then
 that all my evenings
 are flooded with horrors
 of blood and hate,
 some even disguised
 as impersonal,
 collaterally damaged,
 gray blue targets?

 Fire the director,
 and the creative designer.