UNDER NEWSPAPERS

There was a sound clanging beneath our universe calling for mum. We laughed at a picture appearing above us. It followed after when we approached discretely, with caution considering circumstances beyond our control. Suddenly, quite amazingly, and despite previous knowledge of events we expected, success jumped forth and multiplied.
However and unfortunately although, we nevertheless sought hard evidence to which we would be bound respectably and in glorious technicolour. Cars swept away the remaining fears we conceived yesterday whilst claims against us were demanded by lawyers defending rights eroded earlier.
We wept.
But through tunnels prepared tomorrow, anticipating rain, wind, and fallow mud beneath us, we crawled desperately expanding possibilities awaiting trial. Tribulation loved misery beautifully completely and imaginatively.
Once, when taking stock, I said, ‘She loves carrot and me but hates beetroot.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They redden as embarrassment descends happily upon her, ripening without cause or care. Oh, magnificent worktop, how formica suits you, flattering curves, edges and depressions. She told me I could save money from hibernating under newspapers.’