Distant towers, with their windows lit, look like trees. They sighed..."The solar system has begun to rot and I am swimming among radiant earlobes." And then they stepped out onto the radioactive prairie where tall grasses ate wayward children. Birds glowed brightly in their glass jars as the avant-cowboys gripped their levitating saddles and hooted. Never awake the troll who dreams, he could find a new star on the nose of the Milky Way and the rainbows would become the eggplants of the skies. Going on the attack, glistening like worms and mushy like the skulls of newborns, we mistook them at first for dirigibles, from a great distance, unthreatening and ridiculous blobs.
ENGINES OF TIME
The engines stopped vibrating on a dime. They trembled and shaked the wrist of time. Little did Emily realize that a tornado of spiralling eggs had descended upon the tiny village of mouth breathers. The Pentacle Robots slipped on the whimsical face of the weather during the assumption of the forbidden boredoms. The engines revved up again, then sighed as time left them, alone, to wind up its watches.
A lighter-than-air vehicle entered the room to the sound of a foghorn chorus. We lifted the furniture over our heads. But as for our feet, they are made of foam and smoke and clouds. The nose star sat comfortably in the universe and, propping its brow on the crutches it had seized from the interstellar beggar, it had a few deep smells of her lovely feet. The others went downstairs to check on the freshly murdered tulips sprouting in the laundry emitting invisible ink into the chocolate night. Next Tuesday their remains were more shocking than ever, singing to themselves in the corners of the room.