Faded Houses Green

The perverted socks rattled around the field of debris and expressed their dismay at the calumny of rapacious calamari.

When the light hung low, the lowly high jumper filled the chalice of Helen and drank to Priam and his minions a draught of effervescent plum juice. But Troy would have it no other way, along the battlements of the besieged fort within view of Helen’s third sister, Millicent, whose face launched only nine hundred and thirty-two ships, the other sixty-eight having been hijacked in Helen’s play for the throne of Hecuba, mother of gay Paris, who hectored the petulant Achilles, murderer of Patroclus, until all were dead by the pen of Shakespeare, Earl of Oxford–on a good day–first cousin of Francis Bacon on all other days, within three degrees of his step-nephew, Kevin.

Behold the end of an error, an era of slings and errows of adequate fortune, in the service of getting thee to a gunnery sergeant, corporal!

Originally published December 18, 2023