30 April, 2011

dusty seas

I have in my lifetime sailed all the dusty seas. From soap powder to manure clouds, I have survived all of these. There have been talcums and there have been perfumes as sweet or foul as celery. There have been sands and coloured friands, that tasted as good as gelatine.

In Cream I saw a giant who ate nothing but yellow beans and the ensuing clouds of gas powered cities from Scones to Greens. In Mocha there were powdered jellies that suspended all who screamed. In Jamity were agar whirlwinds which picked apart your seams. By the Jug of Fetta, did dusted icing run wild and over Torte De Omelette, heavy eggy clouds air defiled. Beneath the Bread of Pork and Vinegar, salt riots were the thing, while fashion sense in Maizely Cake was decidedly ricey themed.

Oh, I know all the types of seas and have swum in burning soda. I've even tried the border cayes where lime meets cream of tartar. There is no dust I have not sampled, no powder I have not tried. In all the world there is no mist or fog or cloud that I have been denied.

Save one.

You can see that I am old, but in my age am young. There is but one sea I have still to sail and here you bar it from me. Step aside and let me peek. Just let me have a look. For before I die, I would still like to try the rejuvenating Tea of Cook.

Fine. Stop a while and glare, you hulk. Show your head all bare. But by and by your eyes will sigh and I will slip in through that nook.

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