Elijah.
He did it like a child. He crafted a crutch on which to sit on and your abs
were never quite the same when the speed became the problem. Every bone in his
body was shattered when the last ambulance caught up with him. I’ve never seen
the like before since my time in your uterus. The black woman had to be laid up
on a splint because she had to be the bystander when the sandstorm came
a-calling. It was like glass, the Eastern Principle with heads jammed behind
car seats that were low-riding and unobtainable to those who tired eyes and
yellow shirts and canary shorts.
Are
you all right to be the problem for a while? I could certainly use a
replacement since Elijah went missing behind the catacombs courtesy of the milk
carton express train. Someone left this magazine and, in it, all the clues of
casting and thanksgiving. I’m a synchronised swimmer with fear in my goggles,
my cornerback dreams have aspired to naught. I don’t say much about the acting
of a maniac because the wedding rings are obvious. Misunderstanding causes
primary real estate to flee with embarrassing timing and executive producer laughter.
Elijah’s pitch was far shriller than the soothsayer let on.
He
had a dandelion for a heart and the penny was on the line and the moment
suddenly stopped with trained television class. I’m still on fire. Rescue turns
the derail coverage into something far more palpable, all gussied up by a red
ribbon band and a smarmy orange note. The flesh wasn’t even broken by the
suntan lotion. We’ll go to the emergency room all the same to see how we’re
feeling and state it again with asthma partners and nail-biting tactics. Can
you really know more about the seating on the train? The passenger car?
Elijah
gave up his seat with all the certainty of a sultan and all the whimsy of a
crooked cop behind a hospital curtain. You shouldn’t be malfunctioning so alive,
you should be wreaths on a pavement slab, a ceiling underneath the cordon.
Elijah knows less about Erasmus than it would seem would be good for him, he’s
more of a fan of Neil’s, following his recording contracts and tendency to lay
down with beautiful orange peelers. There’s a reason why things take so slow to
murky themselves into milk, it’s that Elijah happened in New York
So consider this his memorial service, pray for his soul
and become a businessman father of six who strides along the glen. More than
monarchy, more than penny whistles from candy stores, more than adaptation to a
rear-view mirror set on hurly motion, more than a sick day we just let the
matter drop. We don’t even drop it ourselves. We’re good that way, it makes us
newsworthy even whilst underneath the circus elephant’s foot. It was a very sad
story. Elijah.
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