Faded Houses Green

Innocent daggers leapt at the chance to delve a little deeper into the heart of the matter, bringing an end to the affair on Styles Island.

Gorgeous lands in the middle of the beautiful sea uplift the homesick pigeon with metaphors as it flies in search of lost thyme, the parsley getting old and fit for little more than to decorate the plate glass window on the outskirts of town. Townes van Sant would beg to differ, but Jacket and Rightly were good for little else than a few batters around the seventh-inning stretch, stretched beyond all recognition like a stop-stopped gadget. Would you believe a marble and a rusty penny at the bottom of the toilet bowl? Leaving it there for the benefit of kites and kestrels, the falconer went on his merry way full of good humor and phlegm.

The daggers, on the other hand, lost the phlegm and the innocence of phlegmatic mourning doves. A day too late.