The lilacs bloomed in November, and the swallows flew north for the winter–ignorance begotten by the mixed up hemisphere of the sharks in the belfry. Amanda would have croaked, but she had not yet been turned into a frog. A tree frog at that.
Inspected for mice, the end of the dynasty was now at hand because a file and a screwdriver walked into a bar, but the bar neither bent nor brake. Brake for the bracken full of flotsam and canoesam. The oars entered the monastery and vowed to never again be found up river without Amanda’s canoe. The lengthy strip of gauze flooded the subscendent display of virtually every parking meter in the dark alley.
But they were out of time. Out of rhymes. Out of any words that used to rhyme with borange. Alas, the zoetrope would spin for only three more days before departing for the kingdom by the sea. The suds by the sounding sea.
Originally published November 12, 2023
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Subscendent – an interesting word that I’d not come across before entering that alley, only to get mugged and leave me to wonder who’s got my bloody gestalt.
…It rained, but its drops did not fall to the ground. That narrow dark street was bathed in sunlight…
Thank you as always inspiritionally hit my mind… Love, nia
You are a blessing. 😀