trash

Where the wiggle has a squiggle, marching up to the bay, the miser and the lyser romp around all day.

Hush a moment, listen here. Can you hear it? Listen.

The salt on the table is called table salt, but you've never been to a salt lake, so you've never seen the salt monster.

Why should the elephant cry, leaving all the hazelnuts by? The crocodile will mash them all and then there really will be no ball. For bowling now, the squirrels use, the old jetsam coconut, not the quarrelsome cumbercue.

To what? See the pin drop on the horizon. Speak up, man.

On a day of contrary motions, the chromatics ran with glissful notion that all the scales of harmonic's pay will scare away melodic's day.

Starry night of mournful day, see how numbered people sway. In the cold wind biting, fighting for the last pot of whiting.

Chains and barbed wire wound round the pole. Red glooped and water ran down the side. This is what the punks did. Dirt blackened with liquid soaked and the smell of sweat lingered still. Glassy eyes stared unfocussed. Not far away, another coughed. Unnoticed. Immobile. Pain filled, with black bile. In the rising mist of the height, this lowly plain drew screams from the main. Scuffled dirt and crushed leaves stuffed up the nose. This was the price one must pay when they disagreed with the Metaglee.

Water flowed in wispy strides, down the battered gardenside. In flowing motion, like her scarf in the wind; in quiet grace, like her dancing by the stream.

Enigma of enigmas. This rat has a black day to fill with yellow. The maze that had been built, lost all who entered it and swallowed all who dared find their way. And yet, from the perch on the apple tree, one could see the straight road through it. Enigma of enigmas. This rat has found a new source to wallow.

Trash is what trash does. Smells of fairy floss and pee. Orange peels and rotting leftovers. The stench of carcasses swollen with maggots, the open sewer running over and filling the tip with its filth. Trash is what trash does. Loves all, takes all, embraces all and is no respecter of persons. If you stop still for hours, you'll see them that live among it. What is one man's loss, one man's junk, one man's waste, becomes another's treasure. They frighten easy and answer with surly silence.

Teacup, teacup, buttered toast on cheese. Grilled to perfection, without even a please.

Her ladyship's gown hung in the shadows. A grim foresight of things yet to come and this her happiest day. A life filled with torment and pain - to achieve this level of joy and gain... all to be lost to another's fancy whim. Just because they can.