brass elegy

A wild flower flickered in the Monkey King's palm—small as proof, loud as a crown He taught it tricks of wind and riddle-speech, to cart the dusk and tumble kingdoms down Its petals rewrote maps: veins as poems, each fold a compass that makes old borders frown So from that stubborn bloom a new legend grew, stitching history to song and earning its own renown

It snipped the red seam of the city—streets unstitched into ribbons that chased their owners' shoes A compass sprouted ears and winked; it pointed where regrets hid and led them into tickled alleys Officials found their laws folded into paper boats, floating upriver toward rumor and laughter The Monkey King clapped; the flower somersaulted through cartographers' pockets, turning order into game

After the game, the city inhaled carefully; laughter folded into a single small sigh. The flower furled a petal like a hand over a name, petals whispering old calendars shut. The Monkey King let his applause hang heavy then slip away, placing the bloom on cracked stone in reverence. People moved like soft liturgies past, leaving paper boats of yesterday that the river accepted without sound.

A foot fell and the crowd answered, a metronome of palms and soft shoes, They counted syllables like coins — even breaths becoming measures to shepherd loss, The flower unfurled in slow intervals, each petal a drumskin struck by time's thumb, Paper boats kept cadence on the river; laws hummed back into place, word by patient word.

A petal tapped the river and the surface forgot itself, breaking into bell-tones that pulled at shoelaces. Alleys braided into crowds; curbs lifted like steps and the pavement became a drum-room for laughing feet. Paper ordinances spun into whistles; magistrates sold stern looks for ribbons and found their pockets full of tune. The Monkey King let the grin bloom wider; the city convulsed into a rō

Horns unclipped like moons, bending sunlight into calloused notes A procession of copper throats swallowed alleys and spat hymns of march Trombone slides unstitched the skyline; chimneys turned bellows and chimed back The flower learned a cadence, petals trembling into polished cymbals and valves Magistrates traded gavels for mouthpieces, each edict blasted into a fanfare Paper boats took on tuba‑

tuba's tail curled into cradle-sound, brass exhaling a low, obedient night Drums softened their salutes into rocking measures; the avenue hummed like a nursery ward Bugles mouthed sleepy orders, each command folded like a blanket over marching boots The Monkey King tapped a lullaby-count, crowning the parade with a hush that could marshal sleep

Copper throats exhaled a mourning hymn that brushed the city into a glass-breathed sleep. Petals cooled into warm bells, each chime folding streets back into gentler maps of night. Paper ordinances softened into lullabies; magistrates watched their rulings drift like small, honest boats. The Monkey King tipped his crown; the bloom closed its compass and held the new story as hush and seed.