Dancing

Sing Muse - wouldn't that be a great way to begin a sermon. Sing Muse, the man of infinite shuffle, who jigs and jives, who makes his way down river and up wind, who consumes wine curious and victuals greasy. Oh Homer Deranged, that man, that mensch unmentionable, who's sauntering shambling shoe scruff wends across woodland and road bed. That I may prove the ways of God to humanity sing the vim and vigor, the trim and trigger, the prim and pregger. Sing, Sing, Sing.
In media res, that thing in the middle, the nougat of a kernel of a chewy centaur, whereat and where four, I fake my shaker shakes at all and all that find me here and wrathful spewing and fuming and gating and gyrating a pirouetting lunair landing habitating and sating my hunger mungered mongering. Fish.
I ventured into this country on the middle river flat boated on a spring day carrying all my worldly goads and freshly shod and newly minted. Hey fellows manure Ol factly stated solid wastrels wassailing, camp me quarters and draw me shotters, my sisters daughters, I framed me a time and times again anon. Clacking and stamping stomped my insignia on pine top and birch bottom. Cedar maple? Willow. Willay. Verdant forest crawled down to the bank and I disembarking shifted my stance and plowed plains geometric, buffaloing my pace, a ring rang true and rung me up.
We fresh fished fresh faced fissured and moved swiftly, now straw-hatted; I stammered and stumbled how and wondered at the play of shadows on the wall. Stewing. I ate. Spewing I sputtered and buttered my candle on both ends. An ensuing happiness and postluding sappiness. A clenched hand does not possess, but the tighter the grip, the less it holds. The old factory ruins into the ground, and we gather at the tavernacle to sing and sway. Straw boat across the lack, waveless and placid, lured beef and beet end down eider down. And my hands shake now and it's colder in the morning and I take longer and have shorter and see and hear and the nearer and the drearer and the pier or the port.
Not to tell of the long journey and the affair of the kegs, the lumber mill paddleboat fiasco, the election of geese, the totem kegs of fetishville, the maidens of the sun dial patio, the unedible hors d'oeurvres and their strange design, the meeting without meaning, the cave of the winds warm and stinting, the apocalyptic events of the ice cream cart, the election of the fool from the wallow, and the migration of the clockwork of the tidy poltergeist.
To name a few.
I think I also baptized Stephanos, but anyone else I don't remember.
The flock of miner birds from the hill top cross cut.
Counter culture - yogurt with a purpose.
My politics were red; my hair was invisible.
The emperor has no clothes but does have good hygiene, which will do for the time being. Not to say that the emperor doesn't have any luggage. How is that? The cry of "the emperor has no tail" went unremarked at the time, and continues to be unremarked.
I carried a big stick which fell on my foot. I spoke softly. Thereafter I felt more free in my movements, not having to buy an extra seat for my stick. My foot thanks me, as does the person in the bottom bunk.
Now to the end, the period and the full stop. Sheep croftly and bury a fat steak.