Bootlegging as he legged out a triple could have rested on
his double, strapped up his boots and went the extra ninety. Granite pressed
firmly against the backsplash pushing and hoping to escape the never ending
wash and dry cycle. Allergic to liquid the granite crumbles and cloaks itself
in crumbs wishing to avoid the spill. The rag is bodysurfing on its face,
dancing on its grave, and forcing soapy water into its once energetic pores.
The golden violin then comes in free and without wind
protected by the glass and with the wit to find it’s purpose. You first
propose, but then you see its prose, and are guided by the light shining down
on its nose. It stands firmly on the stand, handed from man to man, dismissing
any thoughts of harm finding the next comforting stand for which it lands. The
violin is heavy in its ways, eating carrots and expressing its golden blooded
charm with its rosie red cheeks.
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