Scattering about and looking like as chickens all what with no noggins. Searching all up and down we did, but no avail. All happiness and joy and not in our time.
Ground went thick and sloshy, yes it did, all squishing up and out ‘tween our toes and like staining our feets. It’s all and everything like they said it would, and we ache in our cringing. Looked all about and eyed us a rock which for us to climb onto and save us from this detestable mud what we done writhed about it.
And look at that, would you! What would be carved into that stone but words from our own majestic and all joyous savior, that Tim what we savor, him and that fat brother, him weepy all detestable Jim, for shame, for shame.
But alas, them words! We known them words by heart, we did! And carved in that rock there all ten miles high:
“Brave sun shines on me on my own it’s only for me
As cold as can be in and English sea
Which could mean something other…”
Says us to all and to other and it, “Say, I remember you!”
We climb all up on it and do we shake hands and pat us on our backs, remembering these words as we do
from another time, another more happier place in this land (and in the sea).
We trenched up our muddy footies all up on our rock and it did leave its mark, we tried to make it vanish but the filth just wouldn’t have it. So we offered instead our sincerest all sorry, to make them amends to our rock, our buddy, and to him our words from sweet, sweet Tim, living on out there, so we hope, in his house and doing so quite happily, we also do hope.
We love him so. We miss him all terribly.
O, and for shame, Jim.
He have an upper hand now, with Tim gone all struck down.
But we think he wouldn’t have it.
Jim’s too fat and is going to die probably.
And in this we find solace.
O, but it make us sad to think of him there…not knowing just where out there does he be, our sweet Timmy. Somewhere in his home, we hope, maybe making amends and fixing all up to save us all over.
We’d like to think so, and we do.
We weep for him in our thoughtful hearts and it does stain us unto our feet again.
But no, we wipe away our tears and struggling though, celebrating happiness and joy as he gave us, on land and in the sea. We take this rock to be a help of his hands, his sweet giving hands and we crawl up and lie down atop them to sleep now, O please.
And we thank him for it.
Once as is waking, we pitch about and start up with creeching as we see the sea from atop our great rock, all carved with his words. Our mud done all gone, and now here in this dim and dank time we see the sea all rising up around us and dispensing with the filth we crawl in!
(As crawling is my world, it dispense with my world.)
(And I thank him for it.)
All water comes rising, we hear it go sloshing, we hear it all there and of forever, might never stop. Could be we won this time. Is a very good possibility, but we’re all too bad ‘cause we just can’t remember.
Maybe, and likely, but possibly not.
And that sticky and shiny atmosphere it did change itself while we was dozing. Used to be it was all awful hot, what did melt at our skin and make us sweat it and leak down our faces, our backs, going dripping along in the filth and trace patterns on our dirty flesh. Was very hot, yes.
But now gone all cold, yes I should think so. Chilly in its worst way and blows now all freezing on our faces to wake us up while we slept.
So very cold now, a welcome change. And it stings on our sweated flesh, in glue in the muck as it freeze to our being.
And now we becoming all, as it does freeze so, we to become some like new creatures, and we take it as commonplace. These small little changes on us now and again, we take in stride and accept it as so. O yes, we scream some and like as to tear at our skin, but we accept it, yes.
And in our new flesh, we look all around and did come to agreement, we leapt from our rock with its beautiful carving and into the sea to live as we might. Our new freezing likeness does open up to the sea and let it in and we soak in it, accepting it as us and it take us up and take us down, and once and twice and all over again.
It turning all gorgeous.
Yes, this is very good at that.
We’ll be very content, yes.
Happy at that, yes.
O, praise him, do.
And our toes do scrape on the filth way down there, it squish through our toes.
"Up and Down Like Stupid Toys"
Copyright: © 2011 Josh Myers
Josh Myers is one of them humans living in them hideous states, particularly New Jersey, specifically Lambertville. He eats and sleeps mostly, and writes like a good fishy. He’s too fat and is going to die probably. He is not him, though could be if he has to, though does he? We think not.
He is not, we repeat, NOT him.
He appears here on gracious loan from the A.B.C., thank you.
Please refer all complaints to the Consultant.