Faded Houses Green

The rumpled stilts flitted above the knee-high dresses of the virgins of the state of the capitol parade. Windows massed on the borderlina, concertina, Willamina went through three days of every ounce a meek dunce.

Thump, thump, thumping in the evening of the third day, the clanking clanking of the mourning of the fourth day amid the ruins. Love amid the ruins of the river Thyme to say nothing of marjoram, marjoram, wherefore art though, trebuchet? Sachet along the quay that rhymes with bee, but nothing such that stings so sharp and for good as lithium and albatross made their way along the boulevard of broken sighs, and up flies the warden with thirteen tulips, one for each virgin in the state of the capitol parade–one of which was his haha daughter, Willamina.

Willamina entered the cozy chapel that abutted the mystic bookstore, but she gave no doubt where she stood on the issue of heaping piles of mashed potatoes and either butter or gravy: both!

Faulkner reminds them that’s why they endure!

Originally published November 26, 2023