A violet green piano. The keys made out of old bone. It was a musical master piece. Blowing out the old blues of the future into the ears of infants. The nurses wore jump suits with complimenting neon stripes down the legs. The docs were not in a box. They all had glasses. The sun was really bright that day, I promise.
A sister’s love was unrelenting. The worried ticks of her face were in unison with the grandfather clock. The grandfather long passed away, but it continued to click-click away. Too many clicks for the wordprocessor. If it were the 1950s it would barely exist. A child of it’s own. Joining the infants listening to the blues of yester year.
Are you following me? I’m talking about how the old were once young. That our elders were once infants. That the music they thought to be new and innovative is considered old and redundant. How about now? If yes, well I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Try again.
Here is some help. A new perspective.
A mountaintop of fluffed tomatoes is really the gravy pot for a good stew. The chunks of old tire are representing the cuts of beef that should be in there. A wooden spoon made out of plastic is really metal. The skyscrapers were once matchsticks in a child play room constructed by the adults. They drank out of the bottles. But during that time bottles didn’t exist and they used their mothers tit.
Ahh, well. Now you see? I’m a mad man. And this is just a tale.