There was an old man with three feet
And each foot danced a different beat.
It made it impossible
For him to stop at all,
So he danced for coins in the street.
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A world below.
A world below. I stood, looking over the side of the boat and watching the water race beneath me. The sky’s golden eye reached its arms toward my face and stroked my cheeks with its warm fingers. My skin was clammy under the wetsuit, which clung to me like a damp cloth, and my muscles tensed in anticipation.
Walk through the door.
Dust blanketing the kitchen, cracks snaking up the walls, weeds taking pride place in the garden. Adele stumbled through the lounge, dazed and in disbelief. ‘How can this be the same house?’ she wondered. Bottles now emptied of the wine that once coloured them were scattered atop the coffee table, their number drawing her eye. ‘Well, some things haven’t changed’.
I draw clouds on the wall- blue and purple, my favourite colours. I draw a yellow sun with long rays. Then I give him a smiling mouth and two big round eyes.
The oldest in the book
The feathered dame paced back and forth, clicking feet upon the pavement. Her cogs spun on overdrive; Her limbs raised in a lament.