Sacred & Propel

Day one: we huffed and hauled this in a few parts, ferried it out to the enchanted isle, jerried it up with ropes and rigs, and anointed it with a whisky drop, being certain to let a few drips fall to the ground as toast to those who'd come and gone before us.


Day two: we added signage and bits and fees for consultation (got 'ny spare change? We're flyin' this Miami!). Other bums showed up as well: the copilot and his flooming parachute trailing behind him as he'd run in circles, spinning the jet prop into a centrifuge of tornadic delight. The floosie wife also arrived, dripping smeared lipstick and flashing her grassy loins to unsuspecting attendees. The captain would take the brunt of it, enduring vertigo and delivering airmail and flying through several cardboard cloud fronts, resting the bupbupbupbup at journey's end with $3.40 left over in a tipsy old paper cup. By nightfall we were all there, thousandfold shagged but with warm grins and gift given depleted; the moon made up the rest with her million mile shine.


(fish don't swim: fish fly)