Faded Houses Green

Prime rumors of thirty-seven gentrified orchids sauntered into the wake of the nightwatchman’s canteen filled with a jigger of solitude.

Infinitude served Millicent well her long life long, and in uproarious fashion fell behind in the last leg of the seventh inning home stretch, pitching from the stretch no more. Embezzled nuns shrieked at the shirking sheriff who took the wrong do-gooder to the hokey pokey. He turned himself around and marched right in and sat right down with his sitting boots that were made for walking the line of Castille. Cast steel. The steel blades of the civil barber of Seville undulated around the Adam’s apple of her eye and shaved the forest dark and deep, her soul to keep on keeping on truckin’.

Rubber Duck knew both ways to skin a cat, but we’ve had enough violence against cats in this space, so we’ll let him skin the rabbit this time and crawl warmly into his pajamas before gazing out the window and saying, “Goodnight, Moon”.