Faded Houses Green

Harangued by the orangutan in the octagon, the octopus flustered a fistful of filberts grown so long in the tooth even a dentist would have decayed by the dawn’s early light.

Uptight upright pianos and upstanding young men in self-righteous poses in sepia print scandals not even vandals would touch, delivered the news to the crews working the dock of the bay from Marvin’s favorite point of view if the frame of reference had not moved by the time Tina heard it through the grapevine on the midnight plane to Georgia on her mind.

But what? What would yonder argument over the evening star or the morning star have blessed the night of nights for either or both Romeo and Juliet had birds not found their way into the story and taken the glory for Venus on the half-shell like a clam and a half whose oyster cousins said if they had one more wit they’d be a half-wit.

To wit: pretenders to the throne wove a thorn of thrones over the bones of the last light of dusk giving ducks the shelter needed to proceed half way around that half of the globe drinking half and half to close down the last party of summer.

The orangutan had only harangued half the filberts by the time the nitrous oxide had worn off, when soon found out, had a heart of gas.