Faded Houses Green

Agony unraveled the thread of desire, but the lyre of Antigone raveled still more at the dearth of mizithra cheese in Hellas land.

For keeps, the weeping Hecuba feigned joy at the last thrush of the season flying south for everlasting eternity–as though all other forms of eternity had already expired. Retired from the avian aviary, the aviatrix of two-and-a-half tours of duty flew into a rage of aspic proportions when the favorite son of the favorite barber in a town where the barber shaves all those–and only those–who do not shave themselves and the barber forgot whether he was supposed to shave himself or not because he had lost the thread of the sentence somewhere along the line, and the line was fine enough to step over without full intent, full stop.

Hopping mad, the raveled nuisance unraveled the thread of erudition one last time for one last thrush before lunch was served on the dais.