let it go?

05 May, 2026

My hand was being licked by the cow.
The land was torrential and downy, not to mention artificial.
All the candles were packed into the canister like a fat chow-wow in a drain pipe.
In his mantle house he's pouring all the windows shut.
Talking all about the musical instruments band.
The one side of a mountain that is still alive is always the better side.
Back up in the way of the neutral mountain cats, the ones who wrote the plans for the decorated instrumentation.
We know this is a crazy question, but we don't know what to call it.
Never in anyone's life has the answer been muttered.
And now all the liquor problems are complicated beyond belief.
Cities flew overhead, fanciful cities at the rate of one hundred miles per hour.
Thrice is the time for the fruit of the nice.
All the fairyland dusties are plucking their musical eyebrows.
Shall they dance?

A crime has happened in the heart of the city.
Someone notorious and feared has been killed.
Yes, in the middle of all this magical field!
He was a member of the Bar Harbor Historical Society, and you'd think that his mother grew up in the 1950s and was called “Suzy Q.”
A skull and crossbones were placed on his grave.

Soon the order that held this great city together was toppled, and its view was forever distorted.
It rained for fourteen days and the sewers filled with blood.
From top to bottom everything was evil.
It was no longer an option to spend the day with your kid.
Instead it was necessary to go looking for your kid.

The ground was fiery and fresh as I walked, but always I kept the memory of my friends alive.
And the memory of the right way was constant in my heart.
Every lamp post was someone I had once known, every mailbox a family member.
Dainty like your fancy curtains, but strong like the annual floods.

A man, tall and a bit odd, like someone you'd call an odd fellow, except a bit larger.
Rain pouring down, and I never wanted to be anywhere else.
To be young was to be afraid.

Armies of gas-masked soldiers coming after us.
That's all I seem to remember from my childhood dreams.
Weren't you there once?

And there you were, on the moonlit beach, basking in the mosaic dreams of snails.

Congratulations on your event.
The little candies you've so neatly placed on every table beside the place cards taste just like a cool breath of snowy mountain air.

But once again, we've dreamt about “the man.”
Our subconscious has replaced our good memories with our bad memories.
The ground is only a temporary rug, built to show you surface structure.
One might assume that we're not thinking about these things, but you never know what any little piece of fluff will trigger.

And after all this, I still dared to smuggle the heavenly body into the supreme station of being.
At one point my soul turned and looked to The West to see if anyone was listening.

The box is empty, the story is struggling to get through.

In a word or two, it could be said that in the wind there was a subtle touch of the old loneliness.