Dismembered words, disembodied movements, and bodies drifting in space eschewing relationships. Is this how we are, or can be? These questions are posed in this work by Ms. Hays. However, it seems that we do come together at times, marching to a discordant drumbeat, to display the worst in us, expressing a repulsive claim to this world which is particularly male, even as the ineffectual female draws out cramped contours of recoil and grace in hesitation and defeat, on a canvas dominated by drummer boy and the violent male. It is the drummer boy who ultimately yells.