The Buses

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The ticklish buses do not serve the matter well. We took it in turns to question them with sharp words and peacock feathers, but they remained silent, apart from the gentle purr of their idling engines.
  It was Platypus who first realised that their vocal chords had been removed, (ouch!), and replaced with 42 passenger seats.
   It was also Platypus who, laughingly, suggested, we move to Florida the very next day, 
   “If the buses won’t spill the beans … I suggest we scarper!” 
We did.

THE HAIRDRESSERS 2

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One stoat, one weasle, one backpack, one mercanary and one Pluralist with nothing to say. Call out the inspirations, they’ve got nothing under their thumbs. they are beatific and transmogrified and they sit like roses on top of mountains. Also, why not go to Germany or Australia in the fall? There maybe a box containing magic items waiting there for you. Did you ever think of that? Green-tea-Joshua, unwittingly, evoked the summer solstice. AIl the yellow and orange flowers fell like warm, loving snow, covering us with their happy profusion.

“Market Song” written by Jerry Spurlock, performed by Tony Chapman by lieghonsea on SoundCloud

http://soundcloud.com/lieghonsea/market-song-written-by-jerry The specks of stars litter the night sky and I sneak beneath them feeling vulnerable to their stare like I’m a mouse and they are countless hawk eyes about to drop. Luckily I reach shelter before they do. And from the safety of indoors, looking out through the window’s glass I appreciate their beauty and apparent distance.

The Great Obliterator

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Still holding the reins of resistance – uncomplicated, disturbed, ruleless, the Great Obliterator, on flower decorated hobnail boots; walks the last hundred, perfumed miles, unchallenged and unchannelled. Biff, the comic-book character, arouses anxiety only in those who……

Klaxtown Races (Old man song)

We caught an extravagant bus from Wyoming to Minnesota on the morning of the 10th of June as a ridiculous sun toppled the ancient Aztec buildings of Klaxton Town in a clear mist.
   How hypocritical were the Geesha girls, standing by the the rubbish bins waiting for the solid Dustmen to come marching out of the sad, clear mist, stainless steel pitchforks over their shoulders, like so many exquisite Medusas, dressed in their solid golden tunics

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