Ive often cried
inside
the warm mule barrel
of a
tin drum
Cecil was begining to carve it into the tree it had taken a bit to find a good rock for a chisel and then attending to the bark scraping his fingernails to produce an opening of nakedness on the massive tree.
-What kind of tree is this? I wish I knew the names of more trees.
-thought Cecil
He forgot what the whole phrase was went to write mule drum started stopped when it felt empty started on a too big D laughed as it wouldn't fit the scrapped off tree. The D was pretty cool it was all but one or two places that a consistent lightning bolt effect was around the letter it was well he couldn't remember what it was he intended to write, it wouldve taken forever to write out the thing any way. He quickly chipped out a tiny om under the D and then smeared the tree with some left over syrup from breakfast.
Cecil reasoned this would help the tree heal. He still had no idea what the plant was called.
He walked out into a clearing to wash his hands in the stream.
The grass was green the sun was warm the stream twinkling just as bucolic as a the decoded dreams of bleats dissolving in a damp sun.
The carriage passed the lady dowager looked out and saw the naked man she must have seen him, at least that was what Cecil imagined surely she mustve noticed the growing camps of naked homosexual aristocrats assembling on her yard. Or was it that she really could not see all these men. And if she couldn't see them, would that work out to their advantage
or hers?
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