Not Eternal Rust

Cobbled beads, cracked by the age of trees, hang from the peak of the lute. They serpentine around the tuning knobs and dangle off the sides as a fashion statement of their owner. Wind rises from underneath as the bard continues, lifting them into a magical glide across and around the musician. Nothing is whole nor wholesome. Each note reverberated offtonedly and fill the air with whimsy. Missing teeth, cracked nails, strings orange with rust, matted and uneven hair, bare feet, audience jigging, warmth and laughter in unsavory impurity. A merry-go-round lost to time, melancholically fulfilling its duty on squeaky hinges and damaged horses. And yet joy of it is still made. The sky turns rusty as the bolts of the merry-go-round and the lute strings. Ablaze, its flaming fury fires down upon the earth but lands as a mere feather�"rain. We are becomed one with the rust as age takes our soul.

Fix it up with duct tape, bind them together with a copper wire. Thrifted and threshed to eternity a sewing machine can be reconstucted whole and piece a zagging and zigging apron from the parts of the duct tape that weren't used piecing the contraption together. When it's done there'll be an apron that ought be taked to the kitchen - make a pie, make two. No leavener needed. Just pick an Eve's apple and lace it under the flour, sprinkle some sugar and spice and a pinch of something nice for the flavor and roast it over coals and in a cauldron till it browns. Pick it up and scorch a hand or two before letting it cool, and while waiting for it to cool nibble on the latest custom-recipe experiment from the husband. Escargot? Frog legs? Dog tails? Never go hungry again, but something like that pie would be awfully refreshing "a fresh skin of water too" after coating the tongue in such acridity. Curl up in a blanket of wool right off the sheep and fall asleep counting the itches on the back.

And that dream of the night " of mushrooms that high-five the clouds and faeries and alligator men " is truly, undoubtedly eternal. Nothing will persuade or sidetrack it from its originality " the dream.

Author's Note

Experimenting with different ways of writing.